Reaped
by theravensdiadem
Summary: The Hunger Games. District Four, a Career District. Where children voluntarily join a Game to murder until one remains. It's been going on for 64 years prior to this story, and with the 65th Annual Hunger Games, Corella Maritza feels nauseous at the prospect.
1. Prologue

Prologue

The sunlight is harsh as it filters through the small holes in the thatched ceiling, every ray of warmth lights up the dawn of a new day; a terrifying and exceedingly horrible day. It begins to rise, from the East as usual, yet the shabby foundations of my hut on the beach do little to block it from my view on the bed. Although I love my home and chose it for a reason not even two years ago, today I loathe the early morning sunrise. If it were any other day, it would be enchanting to watch the darkness night brought be cast away in strokes of red, orange, pink and yellow. Unfortunately, this is no ordinary Monday, no ordinary June 24th, no ordinary school day's morning.

Yes, if it were any other day than today, I would be delighted to be awoken as per usual by the gentle light; nature's perfect alarm clock. Just yesterday morning I had went through my normal routine of scrambling through my given weekly rations to find a jug of milk to pour a little glass while I watched the sun rise. If it happened to be a windy day or maybe even a summer shower, I remain indoors and lean against the windowsill in perfect harmony with the silence. I love my home as it is the Eastern-most hut in our section in District Four, meaning I am always the first to greet a glorious new day. Many others appreciate and envy what this house gives me, but no one else would have dared to choose it except me.

It had not been used since it was built perhaps a few decades ago, mainly as there were no fish left in the lake merely a few yards away, there was only tranquillity and other various wildlife which would do nothing to fill the Capitol's fishing quotient they rely on us to provide. I was still very young and at school, no need to find a job in the fishing business yet, so I didn't mind the lack of food just outside my door. Perhaps it was also because the huts around here weren't spacious enough so people searched elsewhere for a home. I also knew mine wasn't too sturdy to begin with, as a few storms that came and went over the years had nearly destroyed it, and the Peacekeepers could care less about fixing it, so that was another reason why it was untouchable. For whatever reason, it was left abandoned even before I was born. I like to think it was fate or some sort of force that left it just for me to find.

The carers in charge of me were certainly pleased with my choice, as it was so cheap it was practically free -provided I did the repairs. As soon as I was of reaping age, I opted to live here. If I repaired everything it gave me the option for them to provide me with weekly rations and the odd gift every once in a while. As soon as I was out of their hair, I got started with tightening up the frame of the thatched and woven beach hut with anything from seaweed to a form of rope the net makers either gave me, or I found. It didn't take long for it to be in good shape, and there were always the mornings which had attracted me so. Many people are indeed jealous now, that at 14 years old I have the best home in all of District Four, and it wasn't even the size of some of the boats I'd seen.

It's a shame that today brings so much horror across Panem's Districts, as the morning was shaping up to be a flawless day for going about your hobbies; whether it was swimming, fishing, collecting insects, material finding, net crafting -anything! As if it can whisper in my ear, the sky tells me that the clouds that were there would come to pass within the hour, leaving a brilliant warm day filled with sunshine. The kind of day where everyone takes the time to appreciate the weather, and refrain from any major work to take the time to relax and bask in the glow of the rays buried in the sand or the water. I watch the sun rise a little further from the view I have sitting in bed. I hardly have the energy to do anything different considering I have only closed my eyes, finally drifting away into sleep's embrace when they fluttered open again to see the morning.

I have had hardly any sleep throughout the hours I've lain across my covers, sprawled out in agony thinking of the scenarios that today brings. Sometimes I was thinking about whose name will get drawn out of each large ball, filled to the brim with multitudes of slips with fellow children's names scrawled across each of them in very careful handwriting. When I tried to keep my thoughts succumbing to the scenario where my name is drawn, I tried to calculate the odds of people in my class. If you're 12, it's placed in the spheres only once, 13 and it's twice. With my birthday having passed in April, my name is in there three times. I reassure myself, the population of District Four is relatively large at around 17,000, which means there will be possibly nearly 10,000 slips between the girls ball and the boys ball. If I'm just 3 out of 10,000, the odds are so slim it's barely worth worrying, I haven't taken out tesserae thanks to the weekly rations, besides, District Four is a Career District and we've won quite a few times in comparison to others. This means we're all generally well fed and we know some basic survival skills, so we have something of an advantage. No one _needs_ tesserae, no one _needs_ their name in there more in exchange for food, yet some still opt for it in the hopes that they'll get the splendid honour of visiting the Capitol.

Even the children in my classes at one of the many schools across Four have the sick aspiration and need that only being Reaped will satisfy. I'm 'delirious'. Apparently also 'weird'. 'Strange' even, sometimes. I have my views, they have theirs. I wish it could be left at that. Yet despite my nonchalance to their opinions which the vast majority of Four share, I cannot be left alone with my own. I find what happens today to be despicable, and what follows that is nothing short of incredibly horrific. The boys in our year don't seem to mind as much, they just leave me be as the girl who sits in the back of the classroom, who says nothing to them at all. However, the girls often drag attention during discussions about the Hunger Games to me and why I should be over the moon that I could have the honour and respect of being a Tribute, whereas I would rather tie myself to an anchor and drown whilst a shark finds me to be something of a tasty treat.

Hmm, when I think about it, there's not much difference.

They often make a point about how they've opted for tesserae, and they're absolutely dying to get up on the stage in their silly dresses alongside Nova and Mayor Rowntree, plus all the rest of the people sitting safe and sound upon their high chairs, smiling down at us like they find us particularly interesting, as if they're studying us like one studies a good quality fish or a net; trying to see strengths, trying to see weaknesses. In our physical activities or outdoor lessons, we may learn a trick or two about something that could help us if our names are drawn, and the very same people will take joy in it and express their prowess. Some part of me always knows that when I remain silent and walk away, there's another part of me that longs to pick up a trident or a fishing spear and show them all that there is more to be than an unchanging, expressionless face.

I tend to be cold and untouchable when people who are so high and mighty and believe they are so much better than others attempt to talk to me. I put on a mask of boredom and hatred, and it echoes in my voice.

The real me finds beauty in everything, the real me is the girl who chose this little hut because of its promise, not what it was to begin with. They don't understand, and nobody has ever known me to be myself around them unless they are young, strangers, social carers, neighbours or local adults who own shops. I'm very much polite and happy around them, but not to the people who target me and insult me on a daily basis.

All this is running through my head -actually, _sprinting_ through my head as when I stop being trapped inside my own head and come to my senses again, the sun has barely moved two inches from where it just was. Jumping out of bed, I turn around and pat the soft mattress, taking extra care tucking in the corners to try and avoid thinking about today. I place my childhood bear just on top of the pillow, and smile at the comfort he's always brought me. My next task is to move a single metre forward to reach the basket which holds the food and drink for the upcoming week. It seems that when they delivered it yesterday, they were a bit more generous considering today is what today is. I mentally kick myself as I notice a little vial of the sleeping stuff they used to give at the orphanage to calm restless sleepers and the children who have nightmares, if only I had an appetite yesterday I would've checked and been able to sleep as well as one could last night.

Unfortunately, I have let that opportunity pass me by and so I settle on some bread with some of the cheese they gave me infused with cranberries, alongside my usual glass of milk as well. My breakfast is little, yet satisfying. It's all I can manage yet it gives me the healthy nutrition the orphanage always make sure to prescribe to those of us counted on to live on their own. I could probably be even better fed if I still had my parents or any known relatives, but the only person I know of in my family is me. Besides, I'm sure fish gets tiring after 70 years or however long you hope to live.

Stepping outside is quite a nice feeling. My bare feet feel the soft tickling sensation of the sand, and my restless mind and heart are numbed by the warmth coming over me. I take bites out of my breakfast as I walk towards my little place in front of the lake, and focus on the relaxing sensations I'm letting the day give me. I then take small sips from the glass I have dug a little cup-holder for in the sand, and try to think of everything except the haunting and looming possibility of my name getting picked. Today could be the last sunrise I see in District Four, so I hardly blink and simply watch, not missing a second of it.

When the pretty colours are starting to fade and turn into a perfect blue, I close my eyes and hope for maybe a small nap, but I know the chance is that I will oversleep and miss the Reaping, and probably get killed. Also, if someone were to find me I'd look a mess in my nightgown. You have to at least attempt looking presentable on Reaping Day. Instead, I take my dishes back inside my hut and close the door gently behind me, just as next door's door opens. It'll probably be Mrs McCarthy putting the laundry out to dry under the sun. I feel sympathy for her, knowing that both her children face their first reaping today. They're twins, and lovely boys too, facing their first year. I didn't want to ask about tesserae because I knew it was both a private matter and a heart-wrenching one. My suspicions said perhaps yes, as Mr McCarthy had passed away from a disease probably this time two years ago, when I faced my first Reaping. She did well, bless her soul. She continued on despite mourning and did most of the collecting jobs for many of the shops nearby.

I would have normally said hello to her, but after shutting my door in need of privacy I suspected she'd want privacy herself. Instead, I walk to my tiny attachment to the hut which is the bathroom. After selecting some clothes I received for my birthday, I get changed. It is quite a nice dress, I suppose, it's a pale pink colour just like the sunrise I had watched. It has long sleeves, but the fabric gently falls around my slight frame in a way I think is attractive. After all, you have to look nice if you're going to appear on TV for a few weeks. Despite wearing sandals or being barefoot most of the time, I do have some nice boots for special occasions or for when the weather requires sturdy footwear, so I choose them and slide them on. I have to walk for a little while, getting used to the way they felt again as the leather nips my toes. I haven't worn them since April. Afterwards I return to stand in front of the mirror and attempt the annual task of making myself look like somebody I am not.

I begin by combing through the dark waves framing my face but the smile I've been working on begins to fall. I hate doing this every year, as if I care about looking pretty for the audience. Instead of wallowing in self-pity, I persevere on through my frowning, and move over to the most important piece of all; my mother's ornate hairclip. I will admit, it is the one thing I take pride in wearing on Reaping Day. I never knew my parents, yet I always knew that this was the only thing left of my mother. It's a beautiful butterfly, and in its wings are pink gems of which names I do not know. I let my hair fall forward, and take the two longer layers at the front and tie them behind my head, onto the back of my hair. The clip keeps them in place and I think I look nice, but it doesn't show in my eyes. Speaking of which, I do actually think are pretty without all this pretending. They are a deep green, just like the foliage surrounding the lake. It's common in District Four to have fair hair and blue or sea-green eyes, so it's a subtle thing that marks me different from the rest of them.

Standing around now that I am finished isn't doing me any favours. We are to be at the incredibly large courtyard outside the Justice Building in under three hours. I have to leave now or I probably won't make it on time, especially as I must go on foot. I begin uncontrollably shaking, however, at the prospect of leaving the sanctity of my house. It is possibly nearly 20 minutes later when Mrs McCarthy and her boys leave. This drives me to get a move on, no matter how unprepared I am. Even last year, I wasn't too bad, but seeing how nervous I am currently just gave me a terrible feeling today. A terrible feeling that I am not coming back home after some unfortunate child gets Reaped and then someone volunteers in their place. I just don't know why at all I should be worried, because the chances are already slim and there are _always_ volunteers to take my place.

Still feeling ill, I burst out of my door in a run and glance back to shut the door. I take one last peek at my tiny hut on the lakeside before catching up with the families ahead trying to make their way without boat or car access. Each step feels torturous, and feels extremely important.

After all, I might get murdered in a few days time and never walk these paths again.


	2. Chapter 1

My feet kick up miniature storms of sand as they run free of the ground just as quickly as they embed themselves. They pound impressively quickly for a scrawny girl like myself and make what sounds like thundering steps through the dusty landscape. I can't go on for long, however. Running has never been a strong point of mine which I know for a fact will leave me sprawled on the floor in front of a golden horn filled with a bounty of treasures, as scarlet beads flood the area around my body.

I am fast, certainly, but I can't keep it up without receiving a stabbing pain in the side of my waist, or tripping over myself. It's no wonder that when I finally catch up with Taless and Tormet McCarthy, I am breathless. I manage to keep a straight face and hide the exhaustion by trying to breathe in an even way which threatens to suffocate my lungs. Still, I persevere and hold my breath at points to slow my breath down. This works decently, as I have a talent for holding my breath underwater -a skill that anyone living in District Four needs in order to collect rarer items that nobody else might bother to look for. Mrs McCarthy glances behind her sons and gives me a sad smile that barely touches her eyes. My heart breaks for her, today could be the day she loses another person she holds dear.

"Corella, you look lovely, dear…" she remarks, and warmth floods my cheeks, both taken aback by the compliment and made happy about it at the same time.

I breathe at a steady pace now, and manage to keep my voice just as steady if I want to respond. However, I find I don't respond because when I make the effort to try, I can't find the words that could in any way comfort a woman who might lose a son so close to the anniversary of her husband's death.

Taless, the smaller of the twins, looks up at me with big, innocent blue eyes for reassurance. He is just 12 years old, just a child, and yet here he is facing a life and future being stripped away from him.

I think out of all of District Four, it is the McCarthy family and I who share the lowest opinion of the Games. I could name a quite a few other families who find it awful (it tends to be the ones whose views had been drastically changed when they watched the slaughter of their son or daughter) but most of them all had the idea at one point that it is a great honour to have, to be a Tribute.

"Hey, kiddo." Are the only words I can manage to him. He has the signature fair hair of District Four, and I ruffle it gently with my fingertips, and give a comforting squeeze of his shoulder.

The young boy isn't much shorter than myself, he and Tormet are quite tall for their age. I can't help but let my analytic self seek out their advantages if they got Reaped for the Games today and no one volunteered. Being tall usually links with fast metabolisms, speed, agility. _It could make the twins clumsy_, I add to my train of thought. Clumsiness could be the bullets to be shot with.

Tormet turns around too, to look up at me, equally as anxious as his brother and mother before him. I look him directly in the eyes and try to send positive messages across, but even if I have somehow managed telepathy, the thoughts would be weak. We are powerless against today, yet with every step I find myself more balanced. In an hour's time I will know my fate. You just have to get through the hard part to make it to the other side. Inexplicably, I am consoled and more confident. As much as I suppress it each year, I know that coming from a Career District gives me a raw instinct and urge to be crowned Victor, to show off in front of a crowd; to grab a spear and murder.

It is terrifying.

Terrifying how I, a girl so against the Games and wanting to avoid being chosen -or Reaped as it was officially named- want to lunge forward to the stage and become part of the 65th Annual Hunger Games at the same time. But can I help it? I have been brainwashed by Panem for 14 years, but the best I can manage is to recognise my own brainwashing. It feels like it is in my blood; to be a Tribute. Yet I know if any ancestors of mine had been Reaped before me, I would not be born. Perhaps somewhere way off, I am related to a Tribute, a ruthless one who threw weapons around the arena and watched with a crazed grin on their face as they saw blood tear away from bodies in one swift motion. Who could get a thrill from that? Right now, I feel like I could have the potential if I was forced. I feel that I could become a monster in a heartbeat just to prove to everyone I should never be overlooked.

This is the thing, at 14 years of age, I don't know who I am. No one knows who they are at 14, me especially as I know nothing of relatives. Could they have been killed? Could they be Avoxes serving the Capitol? To add volumes of confusion to my conflicting thoughts, I just absolutely cannot become a Tribute. No matter who gets Reaped, I won't volunteer, I'll stay in the shadows and return to my hut. Watch the re-runs of the Reaping on the McCarthy's TV.

Then I think that if I would volunteer for anyone, I would willingly seal my death for one of those boys, for that family. Yet, they are boys and I am a girl, I cannot volunteer for them if I tried. Nope, the volunteering rules are simple: if you are eligible for Reaping and of the same gender, you may take their place and go have some fun on TV murdering children as a reminder of how completely and utterly powerless our Districts are against the Capitol's iron fist clenched around us. We are being punished forevermore for something a past generation did. We are not to blame, yet we are blamed.

Then of course is one of the most evil part of the Games, in my opinion.

Eligibility.

Citizens from the ages of 12 and 18 years old are eligible for the Reaping. If you are twelve, your name is entered in the reaping balls once and the amount increases once with age unless you take out tesserae. Basically tesserae means food in exchange for putting your name in more, and you can do it on behalf of your family too. Fortunately, practically nobody in District Four has to opt for it, unless they are willing to be Reaped and refuse volunteers.

Each step I take is making a rhythm for me to sort out my thoughts. I'm too conflicted and it makes no sense. I can't understand what this need is to be a Tribute when I'm so sick to my stomach at the prospect of being chosen, should Nova elegantly snatch my name out of the large girls' Reaping lottery ball. I would give anything for the Games to end completely, or at least for me to live my life without being shipped off for my death. Perhaps I am just feeling ill that me standing by and watching someone go to their death is just as bad as the Capitol sending them? Maybe one day I can find a nice fisherman, perhaps marry into a net making family. I could make my fortune and perhaps have children; hope for them to never be Reaped and I could have seldom peace of mind.

I still can't figure anything out at all.

I want all of the dreams I have of the future to come true, to be left in peace and be free from ever having to go into the arena, but I can't sate the need to do something; something that involves being a Tribute. This need constantly burns and eats away at my insides, causing an explosion of emotions and frustration to bubble up inside me. I'm too confused, and I can only pray to any being out there willing to watch suffering for 65 years that I will figure it out, and figure it out soon.

Everyone without car or canal access is walking in perfect formation, in perfect silence. Most of it is anticipation and excitement, but for the McCarthy family and myself, it is complete disapproval, nausea and -for me- confliction. Then, like ghosts, the Peacekeepers drift along in crisp white uniforms. Uniforms that are as white as snow. Snow.

Seems fitting, our president forcing his gang of severely strict law enforcers to dress in outfits that are paler than his namesake. As they drift along I feel I want to shout at them, demand that they help put a stop to this all. I want to make a scene but that will be nothing but stupidity, and I will be shot dead in the middle of these sand dunes we currently walk over. Instead, I mentally insult them, I think of names to mock them.

Suddenly I remember what I was told before my very first Reaping and I am reminded that I cannot scowl.

"Smile for the cameras and look pretty…"

My smile sticks to my face far longer than it sticks to my eyes, and I let my gaze wander over to the left to find one of the canals having a fair bit of traffic from the more wealthy families. District Four definitely has more than enough canals and waterways, especially considering it was flooded land to keep us as an island; an island isolated from the rest of Panem.

From footage of past Reapings I gathered that there were actual barbaric, electrically charged fences surrounding Districts that separate them from each other, and I suppose it made more sense for a floodplain around Four as electricity and water have never and will never get along well. Of course, we could easily sail off on one of our boats and seek land elsewhere to be free of the games, but it could never be that easy, could it?

No, the Peacekeepers made sure of that, certainly. The manufactured floodplain is filled with mutts that are designed purely for the purpose of killing anything alien to them that comes within 1 mile of their domain. This forces fisherman to escape through the waterway to get a day's fishing quota filled, and that is severely monitored by armed Snomies -or Peacekeepers if we must be official. There were at least ten of them on board every ship, so an escape attempt was out of the question. Many tragedies occurred because citizens have been shot on board for 'escaping' when really, they had scrambled to portside to simply watch marine life.

Continuously marching on, I could see so much beauty in everything surrounding me. I've always been that way, whether it was physical appearances, nature or even personalities, I only seemed to see the good and easily forgave the bad. Yet walking this familiar route, everything does not seem as beautiful as it should be.

Yes, the sky was a stunning blue.

Yes, the grass was a pretty green.

Yes, the ivory sand set a lovely scene.

But did any of that matter when we exist in a world where 24 children are about to be chosen to fight to the death?

And the fact that along with the cruellest punishment there has ever been, they go to such methods like flooding a land that was meant to be dry and go along destroying families, landscapes -everything! Walking across the dunes, it is more or less an everlasting highway that stretches for miles until it reached the grand courtyard overlooking the crystalline water, standing proud beneath a stunning Justice Building. Peeking behind the odd tree, I can make out extremely large vehicles 100 strong creeping along the pinnacle of District Four: our bridge.

The bridge, the only way imports come within our reach, the only way exports travel to the Capitol. The only way the Capitol can visit us to select our children. A place no one in the history of District Four anyone has travelled to and fro unless they've murdered. More terrifying thoughts cross my mind.

I could see beyond that in less than an hour.

I could be travelling with Nova ("A star that burns brighter than the sun!~", a supernova for which she was named) to go to the Capitol.

I could be travelling as a Tribute, and only ever come back here in a poorly constructed wooden box which would be called my coffin.

The bridge stands so tall and looks so malicious, that I have to avert my gaze immediately. Another wave of feeling ill and feeling excited hits me, and I allow myself a small groan of annoyance to escape my throat. What must I so desperately need to figure out before the Reaping starts? Obviously I need to discover what the nagging sensation in the pit of my stomach is, but why is it there to begin with?

In an attempt to forget, I hold my breath again and slow my breathing.

"Posture," I think to myself whilst relaxing my shoulders and straightening my back, "Confidence," I then add as I put a bit more power into my steps and an expressionless face as if I know I'm above all of this and then I finally add: "Smile for the cameras. Look pretty." just as I reach the end of the sand highway, turning to face the great courtyard.

Elegantly, I part from the McCarthy's after a few embraces and join the crowd of 14 year old girls. There are so many in our population that I am glad my eyes do not fall upon a familiar face. Before crossing the miniature bridge that rises over a dock of sorts for the canals, I give one last glance back at Taless and Tormet. They are partially hidden behind a palm tree, in the shade and their mother hugs them tightly, and urges them across the Eligibles' bridge, as she parts for the other citizens' bridge.

Fearing I have lost my confidence, elegance, posture and smile in favour of the tears pooling around my eyelids, I turn into a replica of every other girl and look excited, overjoyed and 'pretty'. They all stand wearing a kaleidoscope of colours, but mainly I can see pink in the crowd not unlike my own outfit. At least I know that by blending in with the crowd, I'm doing something right with the way I have presented myself.

There are two fence-like structures in the abnormally large, cobbled square we stand in. One section cordons off the girls on the right -then there is a large pathway filled with the other citizens- and the other section has thousands of boys lined up, looking confident and ecstatic. Three sides of the square is taken up by buildings, and the stunningly ornate Justice Building sits behind the stage set up specifically for today. The fourth (which is behind us, where the small bridges lead) only has a view of the sun sparkling on the waves. I think it's behind us so the stage has a wonderfully aesthetic view, whereas we have to keep on looking at our fate in the form of an incredibly, um, rainbow-like stage.

The colours are so bright I can't look at them for too long without my vision getting teary. Clearly, this year Nova has screamed at whoever is in charge of décor so she could get her hands on paint brighter than her 100 watt smile.

I don't know how long I stand there, concealed by the other girls. Yet while I stand there, I think. I think and I think, and I think some more. My head hurts from mental exhaustion but I know I must figure out the burning feeling eating away at me. As the fateful gong echoes for silence, I know that the proceedings are beginning and yet I hardly bat an eyelid as Mayor Rowntree takes to the stage to recite Panem's creation, why we need the Hunger Games, how great a celebration this is and much more.

A few other official-looking people make some speeches about how the nuclear war 'gave us all a competitive streak' and 'a desperation to outdo other districts' in 'a good old fashioned sporting event like the Hunger Games'. Still figuring things out, I take a few seconds to be exceedingly hateful as they list every Victor to have ever come from District Four. There are many; many murderers in 64 years. I struggle most watching Mags (one of the oldest Victors) appearing on the screen above the stage. She doesn't look like she could hurt anybody. One more murderer could join their ranks for this year, the 65th year.

As far as I can guess, some part of me knows I half want to be a Tribute this year. I still can't for the life of me even try to understand why, yet something beneath my skin is almost reeling me in towards the stage like a fisherman reels in his catch.

After agonizing speeches, the District Four escort Nova bounces onto the stage in such a cheery way I feel sick, which leads to more head pounding. Her famous smile is etched permanently onto her face as she plays with the crowd with glee. She sports an elaborate, luminous yellow wig which falls to her shoulders in a literal fish-tail style, and a neon orange dress that has no place on earth except for the Capitol streets.

In my sincerest opinion, she quite literally looks like she should be lighting the sky in place of the sun rather than choosing this year's victims.

"Oh, how I have missed the wonderful District Four!" she bellows out to the crowd in a cheery tone, with the ridiculously affected Capitol accent.

The audience cheers some more at her enthusiasm and she responds back with much vigour.

"This is truly the spirit of the Games! Welcome, citizens to the beginning of another incredible year! The 65th Annual Hunger Games is upon us and I have been sent here to choose our two fabulously lucky Tributes to take part in the Games!" she signals to the two Reaping balls, filled to the brim with slips of names of every eligible child in District Four written on them.

The crowd goes wild.

"Now, naturally! What is this District without your fabulous volunteers? I'm positive that this year we will have twice as many Peacekeepers on stage trying to wrestle you folk back to your positions! How wonderful!" She squeals, her smile still plastered on her face.

I realise I have been holding my breath this entire time and take another gulp of air before I resort back to silence again.

Things are falling into place in my mind, suddenly but I don't dare act on them. I am starting to understand why I feel this way, but I don't dwell on them now.

Collective silence and excited gasps emanate from the audience as Nova continues, showing all her luminous teeth in one go.

"Well last year we started with our lovely ladies first! Should I do that again?" She plays.

"No!" and other words of disagreement from the boys side echo around the courtyard as she continues giggling in that silly Capitol way of hers.

"Oh, gentlemen, gentlemen! You know how it goes! Of course I shall come to you, it is only honourable and right of me to choose you first this year!"

I'm truly amazed for the five seconds it takes for her to stride across the stage in 10 inch heels. Not a word is spoken by anybody in the crowd. Not even by those in the Capitol, no doubt. Incredible, in all my years I have never heard silence to be this loud and meaningful.

She continues giggling madly and excitedly as she plunges her hand into masses of blue slips and pulls one out, throwing it to the ground and instead choosing another before she even gets the chance to read it. She plays with the boys like this for a while until she finally stops.

Silence.

"Ladies and gentlemen, please join in our applause for awarding the highest honour of being named Tribute to our male contestant: Finnick Odair!"

I feel the air being knocked out of me, as well as the entire crowd.

Capitol escorts and officials give a standing ovation as cameras search the crowd for the boy. Nobody in the crowd utters a word, for once in 65 years. We are all gob smacked and shocked, and we cannot find any words.

Finnick Odair? As in the boy in my class? The one who mirrors my silence in Games discussions? The one that is _the _fisherman's boy and official deliverer of his family? The one who gave swimming lessons before he could walk? Odair is a famous name all over our District and Finnick is one of the most well-loved by anyone he meets.

Yes, is my answer.

Still, the crowd is in too much of a haze correlating the surname 'Odair' with everything good in District Four. Perhaps for once in their lives they are agreeing with me for a split second.

Bronze hair suddenly rises from the crowd and steps onto the stage. Even in this state, I can't help but recognise this boy's beauty. He is incredibly handsome and I already spot Capitol women murmuring to each other, clearly thinking the same thing. I can tell even from this distance he has incredible sea green eyes, which the cameras highlight. If my breath wasn't taken away at his name, it is taken away now by his innocence and his looks.

The boy looks deeply pained, and I feel so awful for him. I feel sick to my stomach and I notice a small commotion behind me. A brunette girl must have somehow fallen to her knees in despair, and she must be younger. It is obvious this girl cares for him, whether a sister or a friend, she is devastated at this Reaping. She screams for volunteers, which confuses me. Someone will have already volunteered, right?

Her screaming is an awful, awful sound. It is a foreign thing in District Four, yet it follows Nova's unexpected comment. Have we been waiting this long?

"My, my! You gentlemen have missed your chance at volunteering! It is like you haven't even heard me! Aren't you all so sweet, putting all your faith behind your male Tribute?"

Everyone is taken aback again, in all the commotion and disbelief, Nova has mistaken our near silence as no volunteers. The girl still screams for him, and I know Peacekeepers are taking the her away.

"Finn!" she screams in desperation, "Finn! Wait for me! Wait for me in the Justice Building! Please!" She continues to beg. I have to wonder if the boy has even heard, because Finnick stands on stage with tears invading his handsome façade.

It is even more of a nightmare when she crosses back over to the girl's lottery ball. Everyone is so confused and heartbroken to potentially be losing one of the most beloved names in the entire District. I especially can't hide the deep torment inside my chest, imagining how it must feel to be Finnick Odair. To be standing on that stage with no one volunteering, watching as somebody you hold dear is being dragged away to be calmed down.

I'm sobbing for him before I even know it, and in a rushed attempt to stop, I hold my breath some more and focus on letting them dry, and dry soon.

Nova digs around the girls ball and this is the moment I have been waiting for. If my name is drawn now, there is a high likelihood that I will also have no volunteers, because everyone around me is still in a daze. The odds are certainly not in my favour, it seems, if I am to be Reaped today.

Straightening out the slip, she reads aloud in a clear voice;

"Citizens of District Four! I am proud to welcome our female Tribute, Solana Fawn!"

Incredibly, the air in my lungs has disappeared yet again. Another fourteen-year-old. Another student from my class. One of the girls that took out tesserae to prove how excited they were for the Games.

This time, golden hair is caught by the cameras, and it does not move until friends nearby have to literally shove her towards the stage. A girl further ahead in the crowd (younger, probably her sister) is visibly distressed and I can't help but imagine Taless or Tormet being chosen. It would destroy me.

Solana always looked so powerful in training lessons, she knew her way around a harpoon for sure. But today, she is just a girl who is paler than the Peacekeepers' uniforms, in a pretty dress that looks far too big for her. She honestly looks like a simple girl, who does not belong on that stage.

Nova continues on, as she beckons Sol up to the stage.

"What an attractive bunch we have from District Four this year! Just imagine when the stylists get their hands on you!"

Capitol citizens nod approvingly, agreeing with our escort.

"Ah! But before we make any presumptions, I must officially ask for volunteers to take on Solana's honour! That is, if she will accept -and if you are all more eager this time!"

Solana nods frantically, desperate for volunteers. I keep thinking of Taless and Tormet again. A few girls look around at each other in the crowd, for once unsure about if they should take her place or not.

"Now, remember, ladies! I count down from five and by then the first to our stage shall take up Miss Fawn's place! You were certainly content with this arrangement in previous years so I hope you are up to the race!"

"Five…"

The crowd is still unsure, nobody moves.

"Four…"

It all comes crashing into me, and the nagging sensation has dissipated.

"Three…"

I know what I must do. To show the cruelty of the games.

"Two…"

No one should have to go through this. I have to make an impression on the audience. Make myself unforgettable. Make the suffering I wreak on the audience an irreversibly, undeniably unforgettable phenomenon.

"One…"

I've always been the fastest runner around, even if I can't keep it up.

Without warning, I bolt into the crowd, knocking over possibly 1000 girls as I fling myself onto the stage before Nova can even say our time is up.

Nova looks shocked, but nothing compares to Solana's face.

Her eyes send a thousand messages at once to me, as I utter the words "I volunteer as Tribute." to every person across Panem.

They tell me of her feelings, confusion, guilt, horror and most of all: a gratitude that nobody will ever be able to match.

"Well then, ladies and gentlemen! We have our two Tributes at long last!" Nova presses her earpiece into her skin slightly, so as to repeat our names, "Finnick Odair and Corella Maritza!"

I hear Mrs McCarthy sobbing and screaming out, an eerie echo of her twin sons' horrific and strangled screams. If I change the way the Capitol see the Games, could I protect the boys from ever being in this position again? They beg for a change, for another volunteer, yet it is too late.

The gratitude that can never be repaid is life.

I have knowingly saved Solana from a probable death, from becoming a murderer of people's children if she is not murdered first.

Yes, it is true.

I am from District Four, competing in the 65th Annual Hunger Games.

I am a Tribute.


	3. Chapter 2

Chapter Two

The crowd's reaction is something that is etched into my mind.

Never, in all the years I've watched the Games, have I witnessed District Four fall silent. To me, the silence is making me feel like laughing with happiness. Yet at the same time, I feel like I want to cry.

If nobody is cheering for Finnick and I, does that mean they have no faith in us? Or has my bold move shocked everyone into wordless, noiseless ghosts that are as still as the lake water when there is not a breath of wind to be found anywhere? Whatever the reason, I feel the crowd looking up at me with some sort of deep sympathy. This is so completely new to me, I can't process it through my mind.

Has what I've done in two short minutes already changed the way my District thinks and feels towards Tributes and the Games?

For this moment in time, when I am trapped under the gaze of cameras, I do not know. I glimpse myself on a large television screen and I look confused, but I am thankful that they keep the cameras trained on me long enough so I can smile and look pretty for the Capitol citizens watching the Reapings live.

We may not be in the arena yet, but the Games have certainly begun.

I don't know what my strategy is, but for now I know I need to look like the Career Tribute everybody expects from me. I straighten my back, broaden my shoulders and put on my best expressionless face. I don't need people analysing me the way I analyse everybody else, so I hide all of my emotions like so many times before and look almost dead, replacing the smile almost instantly.

I manage a quick glance to my male counterpart, and I have to say he looks absolutely terrified. I realise he feels the way I do about the Games, and I can almost hear the screaming that must be going on in his mind.

Still looking into the crowd for any sign of life, I find that even the McCarthy family have stopped their protests, because they know it is no use. They know they can't bring me back to our part of Four anymore, they know they're looking up at someone who is as good as dead.

As if their haunting gazes isn't enough, I feel the Capitol officials behind me looking at me with curious eyes. They'll be sitting there out of my sight on a raised platform, appraising me as if they're already placing bets. It's like Finnick and I are cattle, and they're searching for our strengths to put money on, and also drawing out our weaknesses to play on.

If Finnick is crying like I feel I am about to, they'll be putting that in their bejewelled notebooks.

"Come on, everybody! Just look at these wonderfully lucky Tributes! I know you're all jealous, but put that behind you and show them your whole-hearted support!" Nova startles me with her obnoxiously loud and affected accent. It sounds ridiculously high pitched and her words seem to infuriate me.

I just know I'll adore spending quality time with my escort.

But suddenly, it seems her words have rejuvenated District Four. They've breathed life back into a now stirring audience, and I suddenly feel somewhat worse as they start to cheer one by one for us. I feel worse for a lot of reasons, yet the most prominent are because they have started to look like the crowd I know from previous years, looking forward to this year's great event. The other reason both makes sense, and once again does not.

"I'm a Tribute." I think to myself.

It's haunting my mind. Everybody suddenly cheering wildly for me and Finnick is making the realisation of my decision come crashing into me, and the collision yet again knocks the air out of my lungs. Surely it is natural to feel sick to your stomach knowing in a few days I'll be brutally murdered? Yet it makes no sense at all that I willingly signed up for this. What was I thinking?

I manage to have a full on argument with myself in the time it takes for Nova to start attempting to calm the crowd.

"You are so completely idiotic." I lecture myself, "How could you willingly commit suicide by replacing somebody you've hated forever in a fight to the death?"

"Because nobody deserves to die. Not like this, at least. She may be insufferable, but looking at her just now? She was a girl. She finally understood what it means to be a Tribute. She is innocent, she doesn't need to die." I counter back.

"Oh, bravo. You're ever so smart, 'No one needs to die!' 'She's innocent!' and yet you sign yourself up to die. Fun!"

"I don't care. I have saved someone's life."

"By dying for another? Seriously, there are less dramatic ways to do that than be bludgeoned to death on TV."

"No, and who knows? I may win…the point of volunteering, me of all people, is to show everybody what really happens in the Games. The people that die aren't actors. They die. Families back home will never see them again, they will cry. They will mourn. They have to watch the murderer of their child come within 2 feet of them on the Victory Tour, and they have to pretend there are no hard feelings."

"But you aren't coming back!"

"I've got no one. May as well be me that dies than somebody people actually care for."

"But you could have stayed home, someone else may have volunteered."

"Yet no one else stepped forward except for me."

I realise how stupid I've been, arguing with myself over something I can't change. I'm a Tribute. There isn't one thing in Panem I can do to change my own decision.

As if on cue, Nova's sunshine coloured hair is wavering madly as she frantically runs about the stage, giggling in her silly, childish Capitol way, trying to shut the audience up. They are deafeningly loud, as if they are having a competition between the girls and the boys to support their Tribute more. I'd never thought I'd see the day when the popular girls from my class all banded together to give me a standing ovation that lasted far longer than anybody else's applause. All of the girls followed suit, they screamed my name affectionately and refused Peacekeeper's attempts to quiet them. They looked at me with some sort of envy and deep gratitude. However, for all I knew that envy could be mistaken as jealousy that I was standing next to Panem's new favourite supermodel teenager: Finnick Odair.

Huh, now that I listen closely, once my applause halted, half of the girls are falling over each other trying to get closer to Mr Odair, and are screaming his name as they go. It slightly disturbs me that boys were cheering for me in the same way too. I actually stopped and gave a quizzical look to all of them for Panem's population to see. I furrow my eyebrows and glare uncertainly at them, which unfortunately makes them cheer all the more for both of us. I let my guard down for a few moments in front of the camera, as my minor annoyance with the boys got the better of me. My comfort is that at least things are looking good sponsor-wise for us two up on the stage.

Glancing over at Finnick, I can hardly tell he's upset anymore. He must be an awfully good actor, but he has work to do on his eyes. He is blushing from the attention from all the girls, and his hand has sought the back of his head as he ruffles his bronze hair in such a way that I know it was out of habit. It isn't hard to see what everyone else saw: an incredibly stunning boy. Yet under that admittedly dazzling smile he's putting on, under the waving he gives to the crowd, his eyes hold so much pain I can almost feel my agonising death coming on. It may have been a trick of the light, but I am sure I saw a tear spill from between his lashes. It was gone by the next time I dared to check up on him.

I can tell the Capitol officials are getting bored of this constant cheering. However enthusiastic they may be towards the Games, I know for a fact they'd have preferred a bit more action instead of just watching children jump up and down for nearly ten minutes straight. Perhaps they have a feast to divulge in, or maybe a festivity celebrating the Reaping to attend. Whatever the reason, they make a habit of yawning every two seconds as Peacekeepers escort some of the most rambunctious members of the audience away.

I have to say, I am getting tired too. Tired of keeping up this façade, when really I just want to go into the privacy of the Justice Building and cry; cry as if there is no tomorrow. The irony is, soon there isn't going to be a tomorrow for me.

Finally, it is Nova who is becoming agitated. Although, despite my own tiredness I quite like the fact that they are doing anything they can to go against the wishes of the security. It is like a rebellion of sorts, only one that won't get their heads blown off. Yet as the camera crew look around at each other talking about how time is slipping away, Nova turns around -looking scary with her eyes twitching along with her creepy smile- and nearly slams mine and Finnick's faces together in an attempt to draw attention to the need to finish this year's Reaping.

This is the closest I have come to Finnick today, and it was strange how weird it felt to be standing next to someone so familiar, yet so elusive at the same time. There is the faint smell of the ocean about him which I find comforting. I also feel nauseous knowing that there is no doubt we'll be working together with the Careers to murder in a few days time. If we even make it that far.

"Ladies, gentlemen! Please may I have your full attention! I know I asked for applause but everyone must quieten down quickly! A shorter time at the Reaping means a shorter time to wait until the 65th Annual Hunger Games, after all!" Nova nearly screeches into her microphone.

I have to hand it to her though, between her luminous outfit and interesting voice, she really knows how to make silence fall on the waves of District Four.

"Thank you all for your appreciation, first of all!" she starts, commanding all attention once more, "Now, it brings me great joy once again to announce our two Tributes for this year's annual Hunger Games! Our lovely lady, Corella Maritza-" she gestures to my petite figure, like a shadow standing beside her blazing dress, "-and our strapping boy, Finnick Odair!"

Finnick gives a shy wave to the audience, while I stand there looking bewildered and overwhelmed.

"It is only right that our contestants this year shake hands in honour of good sportsmanship, a reputation that District Four has maintained throughout the years!"

I turn on my heels to the right, to face Finnick properly as Nova steps out of the way, so the cameras can get a shot of the latest victims. I know I am not prepared to look at someone who may kill me, but I can't resist the temptation.

He puts on his one-sided smile for me again, only this time it actually reaches his eyes despite me finding pain still present. In turn, I put on the smile I have been practising for nearly 3 years in total and bow my head in respect to him; a gesture which he mirrors flawlessly. I offer my hand and he takes it. Mine are pale and dainty in comparison to his tanned, warm and slightly worn hands from a short lifetime of working on the docks. As if I don't know my chances of survival are slim already, just standing on this stage I feel so small and weak compared to Finnick. He has plenty of experience with weapons from fishing, and what have I done with my life? Volunteered as Tribute when I had nothing to my advantage.

Yep, I'm a goner for sure.

Still, I am determined to keep our gaze locked. I attempt to make myself look almost cold and confident, but it changes instantaneously. He looks too kind, so innocent. So very like Solana when she was Reaped. I cannot physically look as cold as ice, for his warm eyes melt through it immediately. Standing this close to him, I can count the flecks of gold in his emerald gaze, or number the freckles splashed across his nose. I can even see a single dimple only visible on the side of his mouth that was raised upward. I really do have to admit, his beauty is certainly obvious.

His firm grip on my weak hand helps to keep me balanced. Ever since I walked on the stage, I've felt extremely dizzy. We shake hands twice and then Nova soon calls out one final time to the crowd.

"Thank you all for joining us here in District Four, and remember: Happy Hunger Games!" she beams brightly.

Then as the ocean of people started to buzz with applause and movement once more, Finnick takes the opportunity to surprise me with a low, barely audible whisper.

"Allies until the end, Corella?"

For what feels like the millionth time this day, I feel all air escape my body. People have to stop startling me or I'll have a fatal heart attack before the fun even begins. His eyes bore into mine, searching for an answer. He looks so desperate and scared that I somehow know he would feel better knowing for sure at least one person isn't set on killing him.

I can't help it; I analyse him. Just like I do with everybody I meet. Barely letting a second pass or even moving a muscle, I take in all sorts of information about Finnick, ultimately deciding if allying with him would pay off and tip the odds in my favour.

Although he's slightly taller than me, we have a very similar stature. We've both obviously had enough to eat and are healthy unlike the starving tributes in other Districts who have nothing on their bones. That gives us an advantage in terms of strength. However, as we are both on the younger end of the Eligible Spectrum, we're almost guaranteed to be smaller than the others. In fact, I'm tiny, and if Finnick is only a little bit taller at the moment, we are both going to look like jokes next to the others. Still, being tiny isn't so bad. We may not be good at the close-range combat that the other Careers will be experts at, but if we could somehow get away from the Careers and fend for ourselves, it would bode well for us if we could hide easily. Added to the fact that guys tend to be quick on their feet and that I am fast (though I don't have much stamina) it would mean we could make a quick get-away if needed. And on top of that, I have a feeling that being handsome or just remotely desirable would get sponsors. Sponsors mean food and supplies. Food and supplies mean survival.

Survival means winning.

Despite all of these advantages that Finnick would give me, there is more to it than that. I only felt safe on this stage once he grasped my hand and shook it firmly. I only felt calm when he gave me a genuine smile. I only felt like my volunteering wasn't so stupid when he asked me his question. There was something about the sincerity and kindness in his eyes; something about Finnick Odair that made me feel okay when I was soon going to be rising into an arena and play by the one rule: "Kill or be killed."

So, I whisper to him back, "Allies until the end, Finnick."

His face relaxes as he truly smiles to me, to the crowd. I know I've made the right decision. We both feel much better about the upcoming days knowing that we've found someone who won't kill us in each other. Still clutching my hand, he raises our arms one last time for the crowd and then drops it gently back down to my side. The Peacekeepers then prepare to escort us off the stage, right as the Panem anthem plays and a shot of us smiling slowly fades to black, transitioning to the start of the Reaping in District Five.

I can't exactly express my hatred of the armed Peacekeepers guiding me away from the stage at the current moment, but it doesn't mean I like it at all. It seems too cold and clinical, the way they march in a perfect square formation around me, prepared to fend off any rabid fans. Wouldn't want our lovely Tribute getting hurt before she gets killed, yes?

In any case, I am guided into the Justice Building in no time at all. It was a very beautiful building to behold on the outside, and obviously a lot of money has been indulged into crafting such magnificent architecture and furnishings. It is porcelain white, even though it has survived innumerable years being beaten by raging storms and just general everyday use. There are balconies on the odd floor, facing the courtyard and the ocean just on its doorstep, and ivy climbs out of crevices in every direction in such a way that it makes the building all the more stunning.

The inside is just as marvellous. Although it is common knowledge that District Four is better off than most, I haven't seen such a rich-looking place before. Even some of the mansions for the merchant families aren't as grand as this. Entryways are usually simple, but I've never seen one quite like this.

I walk through an ivory archway, and I am greeted with a large, open space filled with statues, paintings, sculptures and monuments alike. Looking up towards the ceiling, I at first think there is none. Then I realise as it is the tallest building in District Four, the ceiling is actually made of glass and shows a non-obscured view to the sky above. Breathtaking.

To add to that, at the opposite end of where I momentarily stand, there is the grandest grand staircase I have ever laid my eyes on. Round and round it spirals, in perfect circles that are such a treat to my sight that I gasp in awe.

Unfortunately, I cannot stay put for long. My square of Peacekeepers break away with me still marching in their wake from Finnick's squad. He travels down another ornate corridor on the right, whereas I travel to the left. They must be taking us to a waiting room of sorts. There'll be an hour spent in that room where I can think and sort out my feelings towards the Games. Usually it is time allotted for Tributes to say farewell to their family and friends, yet I know better than to expect anybody to enter the door.

I can't help thinking of that 12 year old who was dragged away screaming when Finnick was Reaped. What happened to her? I wonder if she will get to see Finnick like she declared she would for all of Panem to hear.

Yet, for me, I can sit in blissful silence trying to figure out a strategy in advance. Maybe they'll let me on the train early, and I can take a quick tour around it and get to know it before we actually set off.

Still, I'm left to wonder why they've escorted me here when they surely know that my relatives are dead and gone? Maybe they've mistaken the cheers from the crowd for popularity, when really they were just saying thanks for saving a life. In any case, I am locked in yet another rich-looking room with no one but myself for comfort.

What could I do in the time they've given me? The top of my priority list says cry and despair, or run away madly, desperate to live a little bit longer. When I sit down on a plush sofa, however, no tears come. I'm too shocked for one matter, yet I'm also too proud to show tears when the cameras join us again across the bridge at the train station. I'm positive that there's also a little piece of me that shows excitement, no matter how much I hate myself for it.

It is extremely frustrating to say the least, to be so confused and scared that you could cry, and yet no tears will fall despite them being the only thing to make you feel better. Maybe it's a good thing that I don't cry, I won't be perceived as weak at least. I soon find it is good that I don't despair for another reason.

I have been pacing around the marble room, sitting down every now and then on a different sofa that was even more comfortable than the previous. Sometimes I even got fed up with this routine and started moving the furniture around. Yet, when I glanced up at the large grandfather clock, only one painstaking minute has passed me by. Perhaps it is a lesson in its own way, telling me to make the most of every second. Soon enough, any second could be my last.

I am thankful that I have no tears to hastily wipe away, however, because not long after that minute I hear a commotion outside. Could be Peacekeepers switching patrol positions, but I feel my heart lighten at the prospect that someone could have actually chosen to visit me. I am not disappointed in my hopeless wishing, because I can hear footsteps coming closer; and many of them.

"This way, Madam." says one voice outside my door, an unfamiliar one that most likely belongs to a Peacekeeper.

"Thank you, kindly." replies an actual familiar voice, and for the first time I actually do feel a tear crawl down my cheek. They actually care enough to say goodbye to me.

The chained door unlocks, and Mrs McCarthy elegantly steps in, having obviously cried. Her fair hair is askew, and it's also clear that she's been comforting Taless and Tormet; who follow her closely behind. I am currently standing in the middle of the room, tears falling down my face faster than I could've possibly imagined.

They care, they really care. Somebody cares about me. I'm not alone.

She drops the boys' hands, and opens her arms out to pull me into a hug, at the exact same time Taless lurches forward to join in our embrace. Tormet follows a little bit awkwardly, but we all are pressed together so tightly that we can feel each other's heartbeats. Everybody is crying, and I can't stand to think that if I feel like this with neighbours, how does Finnick feel saying goodbye to family and friends?

Mrs McCarthy suddenly steps back, and cups my face with her hands at arm length. She then brushes a few strands of dark hair that has stuck to my face away delicately.

"You are such an incredible person," she starts -voice breaking as she goes, "And I want you to remember that on the darkest days. You've saved somebody's life doing this, and I sincerely pray that you come back to us all."

"Me too, Corella!" Squeak the boys, who can barely choke out the words. I can't stop crying, I just can't process the thought that this could be the last time I see this family alive.

"Thank you, Isla. Thank you so much," I say, even though my voice is threatened constantly to sound strangled, "I-if I don't come back, please don't be sad. I'm scared, but I'm more scared for you."

"Hush, now, Ella. You'll never come back unless you believe you can. We'll be fine, or we shall at least try. We'll sell everything we have to sponsor you, even if it's in vain." she replies softly.

Taless and Tormet still haven't let go of me, so I suggest we all sit down on one of the sofas and try and talk as calmly as we can. The boys huddle into me, and I can feel their tears fall just by sitting there.

"Don't sell for me, please. I can't stand the thought of you living with nothing. In fact, use my hut all you like. Take the rations. Take anything, as what could be my last request to you.."

"Oh, Ella. You're too kind. Don't lose yourself in those Games, I know you'll stay true to yourself. You will, for me, please?" she asks tentatively.

"I'd do anything for you all. If I could've volunteered for one of these boys, I would. I'm just glad I could save another from…from this." I reply.

Taless and Tormet look up at me with those incredibly large blue eyes. As if they'd practiced it, they speak to me the same words at the exact same time.

"Please try. Try to come back to us."

"I'll try the hardest that anybody has ever tried before to come back to you. I really will, but even if I don't, I want you guys to know that I'll still be around. Even if you can't see me, I'll be here. When I get on that train, I haven't left at all, so please remember that for me?"

The boys nod and then their mother speaks quietly to them.

"Now, boys, go and find your friends in the square. Watch the Reapings in District Five while I talk to Corella alone."

My heart breaks right then and there, so much so that I have to place my hand to my face to stop from screaming out about my idiotic decision. I should've thought of them, before I got on the stage. I can't keep my promise, I have no chance against any of the rest of them.

The twins actually do start crying, and it is the worst sound in the world. It tugs at my heartstrings and I put all my strength into trying to push them away, as they cling to me desperately as if them holding on means I don't have to go. I take their hands and gently walk with them to the door, letting the Peacekeepers take them away.

When the door closes, I fall to the ground sobbing.

"Come on, now, sweetheart. I know it's hard, but I need to tell you something before…before you go." Isla says to me, pulling me up from the floor.

By 'go' I know she's saying 'before I die'. This could be the last time we meet in person, and obviously there is something I must know before I am murdered.

She guides me back to the table, never letting my hand slip out of hers once. I manage to halt my tears for at least five minutes as she breaks some news to me.

"Now, I don't know who your parents are, and it sounds incredibly silly, but…I feel like you're my daughter, Corella. Even though it is awful that your family is almost non-existent, some part of me is always thankful that you landed in the orphanage."

"Why?" is all I manage to say, astounded by my ability to swallow her words and continue moving on, knowing our time is limited.

"Because it let me know you, let me look after you. When my husband passed away you and my boys kept me going. I know it's hard to think about, but I want you to at least know who you are to me before you go into a Game that makes people lose themselves so naturally. I know it can't be promised, but please tell me you will try and come back? I already mourn you like I've lost a daughter, and you haven't even left yet."

I feel more tears coming on, and I feel emotionally devastated inside. Knowing that I actually have parents who left me or died doesn't make me sad. I couldn't mourn people I didn't know, but I do cry at the thought that Mrs McCarthy thought of me like a daughter. She has been a motherly figure in the time I had spent living next door to her, and I can't find the words to say how extremely thankful I am to her.

I simply hug her for time I don't count. I don't know how long for, but we sat there, crying and hugging until the Peacekeepers unlocked the door again.

"I'll try, Isla, I'll truly try. For you." I whisper, as the white figures come forward to escort her away from me.

I feel dead, even though my death hasn't arrived yet. I can't explain anything at all except that I am simply numb. My prominent thoughts are that I was stupid for volunteering, I regret not being able to spend more time with the McCarthy family, I am absolutely terrified to go into the arena and also, I wish that when I close my eyes I could go back to this morning. Watching my last sunrise in District Four.

Looking up at the clock again, I have 10 minutes until I must be on my way to the Capitol. I seem paralysed with fear, and so oblivious to my surroundings that it takes several attempts from a young girl coughing politely before she owns all my attention.

I am especially shocked now, as I am being paid another visit by somebody I don't even know. The girl is so small, even in comparison to my own tiny figure that I realise if this was her first Reaping and she was chosen, the odds would most certainly not be in her favour. I take in her appearance, wondering where I know her from. Like me, she has dark brown hair which falls in little knots and curls around her heart-shaped face. However, her eyes remind me of Finnick's and the most part of District Four's eye colour. They are a pretty sea green colour that look just like the watery depths rippling just outside the Justice Building. She has a few freckles spattered across her cheeks, and I find myself finally understanding who she is.

She's the girl, the girl who cried for Finnick.

"Hello, Corella…" she says, her voice wavering from her obvious tears. She must have just seen Finnick, for her eyes are still watery and slightly red and puffy.

"Hello, sweetie, thank you for visiting me," I say gently to her, "What's your name?"

"I'm Annie. Annie Cresta. I came to see if you were okay." Annie replied, being so sweet I felt like crying yet again.

I can't help but immediately feel affection for this girl, she didn't even know who I was and yet she wanted to check up on me. For all she knows, I could be the murderer of the boy she cried over so much. That leads me to wonder who she was to Finnick. They obviously weren't siblings judging by their surnames, but maybe they were cousins or just best friends. Whatever the reason, I wished the ground would swallow me up now so I didn't have to feel any more pain for her.

Still, she is here for a reason and I need to listen.

"Well, hi, Annie. Come and sit down with me if you'd like?" I say, patting down the area next to me encouragingly.

"Thank you…" she whispers, still a little bit timid and nervous.

She sits down next to me, and I notice she is fiddling with a bit of rope in her hands, tying mesmerising knots over and over again, then undoing them just as quickly.

"I know you don't have much time, but I have two favours to ask you, if that's okay?" she whispers, her face as white as a ghost.

"Of course that's okay!" I respond as brightly as I could manage, trying to make her feel a little bit better. I am confused at the prospect of just what she could possibly ask me, but it makes sense when she forces the words out eventually.

"Well, first of all, I was wondering if you had a District token yet? I wasn't sure, so I made an extra one for you. I already gave one to Finn just now." she asks me under her breath, still incredibly shy.

She holds out a beautiful bracelet that was woven out of some sort of material. I realise she is clearly a net maker's daughter as it is extremely intricate and detailed. It was a golden sort of colour, if that is even possible seeing as it is made from a rope of sorts. There are also a few charms on the bracelet, little fish or a trident hang off each hook and I am in awe that she made something so pretty, and that she made one for me. All of it would remind me of District Four in the arena, and I am so thankful that I can't help but give her a small hug.

"Thank you so much, Annie," I breathe, "This is beautiful. I'd be honoured to wear it, to wear it for you."

She gives me a cute, child-like grin and I hold out my wrist for her to fasten it around. It fits me perfectly and looks as if that was the place it was meant to be. It just felt right to be wearing it, and gives me a little hope that my rash decision to be Tribute actually was fate and not a careless decision.

"It's beautiful, Annie! Now, what was your other favour you wanted to ask me?" I whisper, still trying to lessen the awkward feeling in the air.

She blanches a little, and I know this would probably be a harder thing to accept.

"I know I have no right to ask you this, but I can't help it. I wouldn't mind if you came home at all, and I'm not asking you to not…it's….just…" she sighs, and I finish her sentence for her.

"You want me to keep Finnick alive, don't you?" I choke out, tears creeping over my eyelids once more, imagining how she must feel.

She blinks a few times, probably keeping her eyes clear.

"I know I shouldn't ask this, but can you please make sure he gets as far as he can? He told me you were allies, and you have no idea how much I wish this isn't the last time I see him. Could you just try your best to help him on his way to coming home? And if not him, I hope you come home."

We are both crying, we can't help it. It is obvious Finnick meant a great deal to her, and I understand where she is coming from. She didn't necessarily want me to die for him, she just wants me to help prevent him from dying as long as I can.

I simply nod to her, and before I have even finished thanking her once more, the Peacekeepers are there at the door, dragging us both away from each other. They march me back down the corridor before I have even processed anything. I see Finnick awaiting me in the centre of the entry, and I quickly glance behind me. Annie is standing there, watching us be taken away from her for what could be forever. I see she's about to start screaming for him again, when two Peacekeepers cover her mouth and gently escort her away.

Finnick hasn't noticed, however. He only looks down at his wrist, where Annie has fastened an identical bracelet to mine. His hair covers his eyes as he looks down, but I don't need to be psychic to know their full of heartbreak and pain. It isn't my place, but I tentatively reach for his hand, and give him a reassuring squeeze. I don't know him at all, yet our hands do not part as we find comfort in each other on the walk to the bridge; the bridge I have never seen past before. The bridge leads on to the mainland, and where we will find Nova, our mentor and our train ride to the Capitol.

My hand in his gives him comfort knowing he's not alone, that he already has someone who won't murder him. I know he's noticed my bracelet too, and that will comfort him knowing that Annie is with us both, giving him the thumbs up that I'm a good person to ally with.

What's my comfort? I don't even know.

It's enough though, that us standing together means we're not as lonely as we think. We can already be counted on to survive a little longer than most other Tributes, and as we already have allies, it makes me feel better knowing I can keep up both promises for a little while.

That is the problem though; I have two promises I've made.

One is to come home safe and sound, as the only one alive from 24 children who originally go into the arena.

The other is that I need to do anything in my power to help Finnick win.

But if he wins, I can't fulfil my first promise to come home.

But if I do come home, it means I've left Finnick to die.


	4. Chapter 3

As Finnick and I are ushered roughly through crowds of cameramen, Peacekeepers and citizens, I come to realise I have never been on a train. It's a simple thing (and not the most pressing matter), but for me it is followed by a lot of thoughts of all the things I will never do. I will never get a chance to do plenty of things, regardless of how pleasant or unpleasant they are. I'm from District Four and I don't even think I've been on a boat.

My train of thought is constantly being diverted. I don't feel myself walking but I am being pulled forward anyway. Time won't freeze, time won't rewind; it will only move me forward to what I know now is inevitable. As I am marched to our train station before the bridge, my body is numb except for my hands. They fiddle with the knots of my token as if independent from my control. It seems I have adopted the trait from Annie, just as Finnick has expertly copied next to me.

I am aware of only a few things. The looming shadow of my death, the two promises I have made, Finnick's shoulder brushing against mine and the occasional citizen calling our names. I feel time ticking away with every step I take. It's as if I can hear it running out, running away from me with all the opportunities I could have had. I realise I want nothing more than to stay put, but the unstoppable forces of time and Nova are reeling me forward closer and closer to me breaking a promise that I should not have made.

"Tributes!" Nova's shrill voice demands my attention instantly. In an instant she gestures for the Peacekeepers to disband and she lunges forward to grab our hands.

She flicks my wrist and I spin around to face a camera crew I was unaware of as well as a crowd I incredibly managed to remain oblivious to. Nova squeezes my wrist as if to tell me to start smiling but she is too late, I know what to do from all my preparation for this moment. I give a brilliant smile and wrestle my hand free from Nova's, jingling the charms on my bracelet as I do so. I wave with more enthusiasm than I have ever needed to have, then grab Finnick's arm and raise it with my own.

I know have blocked Nova from view when she makes the exasperated sound "Hmph!" but seconds later I hear her comment that sponsors always love a good smile and I think she has forgiven me.

When I am sure the cameras have stopped filming, I drop my smile a little and look out into the crowd for a familiar face. I find no one and perhaps it is better this way. I take one last look at my District and then turn my back to it for good, blocking their view of a tear slipping down my cheek. I take a deep breath and hear the sound of the station's enormous doors closing behind me as I walk straight into a surprise.

As I stare into a long line of Victors, it occurs to me that there must be some system involved for choosing mentors in districts with many Victors. I don't think there will be a reaping for the mentors, but perhaps I am wrong.

I feel Finnick's eyes on me and I turn my head to meet his gaze. I expect him to be confused or at least slightly alarmed, but his eyes aren't trained on me at all. He is looking at the old woman who requires a cane to support her as she stands with the other murderers. _No_, I think, _murderer is too evil a word for her._

I don't have high views of the other Victors, but I do remember now that not all of them are vicious. I even think Mags might have been one of the first Victors, at a time where District Four were still unkeen to give up their children.

Maybe Finnick is thinking the same as me, or perhaps he just pities her, but I begin to hope Mags is my mentor because I don't see a Victor born from bloodshed in her; I see a survivor.

"Ah, marvellous!" chirps Nova. "We have our tributes this year and I think they'll make a fine pair for the Games."

I resist the urge to roll my eyes and hope no one sees my disgust that I am only half-heartedly attempting to hide.

"Corella, Finnick," she addresses us, "You may choose your mentor now."

There are quite a few choices in front of me. Some are eager and following my eyes, begging for eye contact. Others are visibly inebriated either by drugs or alcohol. I don't even take a second to hesitate.

"Mags." I blurt out, but my voice seems to have taken a deeper undertone.

I soon realise it is because Finnick had spoken with me. We are unanimous in our choice.

Nova makes a noise that sounds like a suppressed scoff, but she doesn't object to Mags. Not directly, anyway.

"We are usually accustomed to two different mentors, however, I see no problem with having the same one."

Mags approaches us with her cane. She isn't immobile yet but it seems old age will soon catch up with her. She offers us a smile and I instinctively reach for her hand to help her.

"Thank you." she mumbles under her breath, but her smile remains constant.

I do not look at the other Victors as they part for us to reach the train. I don't want to, but I do hear sounds of confusion and maybe the odd complaint, yet overall it seems Finnick and I have interested them all.

Nova pushes me through an opening in a glass wall. I then notice that the glass curves even above me before I realise the glass is actually the train. It is luxury as I have never seen before. It even beats the Justice Building I saw only 30 minutes ago. The glass is spotless and offers a perfect view of everything outside it.

There are plush sofas in every direction and large screens appear as if from nowhere and light up with adverts from the Capitol. Everything is colourful and made of only the most beautiful fabrics or wood. Attendants stand in even intervals all the way down the winding corridors and they are ready to serve me with anything I could think of. Everything about the train screams luxury to me. I always knew the Capitol didn't spare any expense for the Games, but I never dreamed it would extend this far.

"Wow," Finnick breathes, "It's beautiful."

At the same time, Mags squeezes my hand and makes a gesture to the luxury, as if to say she knows that the circumstances are bad but at least I am alive now to experience all of this. I wonder if she is accustomed to this by now, for I don't think I could ever tire of it.

Nova excuses herself to change into another extravagant set of clothes while Finnick, Mags and I take a seat on the largest sofa of the compartment.

Mags reaches for something behind my head and Finnick offers to help her. Finnick produces my hairclip in his hands and I remember with a pang of sadness that it cannot be my district token now. I shake my hair loose and take the clip in my hands.

"You should keep that safe, you know," says Finnick, "It should stay with you since it's obviously special."

"It's alright, I'll think of something to do with it besides being a district token." I don't want to draw attention to Annie's gift and remind Finnick of our situation, so I continue the wonderfully ordinary yet indifferent conversation we're having. A few moments pass and nobody says anything. The fact that I don't know these people crashes down on me.

Mags nudges my arm and pulls Finnick's hand into hers.  
>"You two watch the reapings, I think I might take a nap." She says quietly and with her friendly smile.<p>

All I can think about is the awkward silence Finnick and I are entering. I wish Mags had stayed for I don't know what I can say to him and I don't particularly want to watch the Reapings either. It's too silent and it begins to both annoy and frustrate me, but my emotions are interrupted by Finnick gasping in alarm.

"We're moving?" He murmurs, furrowing his brow.  
>He then looks up to me with a wild look in his eyes and I can't resist looking through the glass that surrounds me.<p>

"We're moving!" I yelp.  
>The initial alarm dissolves into amazement that we are moving so incredibly quickly in silence through the landscape. There are trees everywhere and patches of overgrown grass spread out in every direction.<p>

_Trees, not sand._

"Finnick..." I trail off, noticing how excited he is as he presses his face against the glass to see every little detail. I quickly steady myself.

"Finnick, we didn't even get to look at District Four. It's gone by already."

This snaps him out of his craze and I feel a very heavy guilt creeping up on me that I interrupted him when he had managed to forget our situation and all the goodbyes he has only recently said.

At first I think he has not heard me and I begin to think it is better that way, but he peels his hands from the glass and leaves misty handprints behind.  
>"Oh." Is all he says as he slumps down into one of the armchairs available. I sit down nearby and try to think of something else to say but I'm not used to trying to make friends.<p>

Instead I just ask a Capitol attendant to replay the Reapings as I have no experience in operating a television as grand as this. They haven't finished the actual Reapings yet so all that appears on the screen is Caesar Flickerman sporting a mint green hairdo and warming up the crowd.

I hardly notice Nova elegantly stride back in our compartment. She hastily comments that dinner will be in a few hours and we should be in the Capitol for 9 o'clock tonight. Before she leaves, she spots a pile of sugar cubes on the cart of warm beverages like tea and coffee.

"Ooh, sugar cubes. Now that takes me back." She delivers the line in such a way that it is all I can do to suppress a laugh. She glances at me as if she's divulged something she shouldn't and then hurries out of the compartment.

Perhaps it's the hysteria or maybe just that I don't have many laughs left, but I burst into a fit of giggles that I cannot stop. I am happy to find that Finnick is laughing too. It's a loud laugh that's so lively it's contagious, and I find myself thinking it's a lovely thing to have someone so lively in a situation as grave as ours.

In between laughs, Finnick manages to breathe out a sentence.

"What was...What was she doing with those sugar cubes?" He laughs heartily, like a little kid.

"I don't know but why was it so suggestive!?" I can't stop giggling and I have to contsantly remember to breathe. When I do, my ribs ache.

Finnick leaps up and runs across to the tea cart and throws one cube of sugar into his mouth. He pinches one between his thumb and forefinger and holds it away from his body, still laughing but trying to force himself to stop.  
>"Hey Corella," he begins and stifles a laugh, "Want a sugar cube?"<p>

He says it so seductively and suggestively that I can't take him serious. When I finally stop laughing, he wiggles his eyebrows and it sets me off again.

It's contagious, and I accept his sugar cube when I bound up to the cart to meet him.

"That's all very good, but you obviously need work." I say.

"Excuse you, Miss Maritza. I thought I did fabulously!" He grins back, and I know I can't let this laughter end.

"Watch and learn," I reply.

I pull all of my hair over one shoulder, raise one brow, bite my lip and turn to him. I flip my hair, contort my face into one so unattractive it will obviously be seductive and then offer him a sugar cube with my best honey-coated voice.

He begins shrieking with laughter and the awkwardness between us is gone. It turns out that once you let someone see you at your most embarassing, you can't really go wrong with anything else.

Between theories of what Nova was talking about, our best seductive faces and our raucous laughter, I actually find a bit out about Finnick.  
>He's an only child but he's very close to his parents who make their living by fishing, as expected. Their family owns a store which sells bait as well as other fishing equipment like rods, tridents and fish traps. His favourite colour is the reflection of sunrise on the sea and he genuinely has a fondness of sugar cubes outside of them being used for hilarious jokes. He's consistently charming and I find myself liking him more and more the longer we talk. Of course, I tell him about me and my little hut. He says he is sorry that I never knew my parents and I explain to him that my hair clip was my mother's. He suggests Mags keep it safe for me but I brush off thoughts of parting with it by telling him it's obviously going to be Caesar Flickerman's newest accessory.<p>

Speaking of Caesar Flickerman, he commands our attention to the screen during dinner (which was an endless banquet of deliciousness) and I quickly lose my appetite. He introduces us viewers to his studio in the Capitol before divulging what everyone is desperate to see: who got reaped?  
>From District One, a 13 year old girl is reaped but instantly replaced by a 16 year old volunteer called Caroline. She doesn't look vicious, but she does look dangerous. She's intelligent and admittedly very pretty. Her district partner is a 17 year old boy who kisses her cheek in a friendly manner; they obviously know each other well.<br>From Two the female tribute doesn't strike me as dangerous but I wouldn't overlook her. An 18 year old boy volunteers and I can tell he could be serious competition.  
>From Three nobody seems like too much of a threat and the screen transitions to District Four's beautiful ocean.<p>

I force myself to stay calm and emotionless as I am forced to rewatch my own Reaping. They cut out Annie screaming for Finnick and make it seem like nobody volunteered because they were completely trusting of Finnick rather than it being because no one heard Nova and Annie's commotion distracted the crowd. Then I see Solana being chosen and I see what I didn't get to when I was standing behind her. She was crying hysterically and her little sister was in complete distress. Then I see me and it's exactly how I wanted it to appear. I am cold. I am confident. I will not be ignored.

I'm glad they have presented me in the way I wanted. Nobody will know about the wreck that I am inside. Caesar comments on how great it is that I am keeping up the noble tradition of volunteering in District Four. It seems that rewatching this has awoken the cunning side of me and I willingly embrace it as I need all the help I can get in surviving.

After that, the only tributes I make a note of are the girl from District Six with a scar on her face, the girl from Nine who is the mayor's daughter and then the boy from Eleven who is malnourished but hasn't seemed to have given up. All the tributes from the other districts are either of average health or severely underfed. I feel sad for them and guilty as I remember all the baskets of food I have been given every week. When was the last time any of them ate?

I don't feel like eating and excuse myself from the table. Mags squeezes my shoulder as I pass by and I am briefly comforted. After Finnick has ate sufficient, he joins me near the back of the train and we look out of the windows as the distant lights of District One fade away into darkness.

We don't really say anything, but it isn't awkward as it was before. He even casually puts his arm around me and tells me we'll be okay in the end. I look up to his face and his eyes search mine for an answer. I want to believe him, but I can't.

I find myself resting my head on his shoulder out of the camaraderie that a vain escort and sugar cubes created. I think about "Fate" for a little bit. I whole-heartedly trust Finnick as if we've been friends all our lives. Maybe if Fate had a different plan we really could have been friends for all that time, it wouldn't be hard to believe. I feel like a few hours has made a difference to me. I am fiercely protective of Finnick and I think that maybe he's protective of me, too. I also wonder what it would have been like to have a sibling. Maybe I did have one at some point. I think Finnick would make a good older brother.

It's increasingly difficult to imagine that in a few days the odds are that we'll both be dead and gone. He's so full of life that I can't see him anywhere else but living, loving and laughing vibrantly on the waves of District Four.

When our train breaks its silence and the scenery falls away, one more day has already left us. As our train pulls into the Capitol, I have a new determination that drives me. Someone so vivacious as Finnick and someone who clings to life as tightly as I do can surely do something to get one of us out alive.

"Y'know, Finnick," I say to him, "We _will _be okay in the end."


	5. Chapter 4

All things considered, I honestly never thought that several people seeing me naked would worry me half as much as the idea of my imminent death.

In all of my years watching the Games it is obvious that the shining tributes you see on screen are not the same teenagers who left their districts. Somehow I always knew being a tribute involved an extreme bodily makeover, but for whatever reason I hadn't ever thought I would literally be lying stark-naked on a very cold and very metal table.

The metal is like ice on my limbs and brings about the occasional shudder, which severely distresses my prep team.

"No!" One of them cries as she drops her tweezers, "Hold her still, will you?"

A woman appears in my line of sight and holds my shoulders down, murmuring things about my lack of muscle control in a crisis. Every inch of her body seems to be designed with specific angles. Her temple looks as if it's been reconstructed to stick outwards, but her cheekbones naturally jut out anyway. Her dress even hangs like a perfectly sculpted cage; metal that cinches her waist then flairs out in an equally stiff and triangular shape.

As they stress over the contours of my eyebrows, I try to remember the last time they praised me. I was initially marched here and they almost seemed to approve of me. I was like a blank canvas, one of them said, with potential to look like something extraordinary.

This comment actually drew a rush of blood to my cheeks before they started to pull out my hair and tell me just how much I was going to have to change before I was camera-ready. My stylist remains an elusive shadow to me. I sometimes catch a glimpse of a man and a woman watching the team work on me, who are in turn paying plenty of attention to my naked body.

I try not to think of what they think of me, but instead I am praying they do not fit me in a scaly, shiny cage and call me a fish for the opening ceremony. For 65 years now, the tributes have been paraded around the Capitol's inner circle like we're in a beauty contest. It's unfair and humiliating and entirely ridiculous. District Four is never even dressed remotely glamorously until the interviews. For the parade I'm about to participate in, I've seen too many fish and too many mermaids to even hope for a change.

The reward can make up for it, though. If your district attracts the most attention, your face appears the most frequently. There'll be sponsors by the thousands and you'll be rolling in gold and life-saving equipment before the Games even begin. I wonder if that's why we're all dressed so ridiculously; at least looking stupid makes you memorable.

The man and woman who appear to be this year's stylists look different to what I remember, but there's a dull familiarity about them that fills me with dread over the imminent dressing up as a fish.

They keep their distance, sometimes glancing at my face as if to figure out what to do with my plain face. It becomes increasingly difficult for my eyes to follow them when the prep team start ripping out the hair on my legs. I grit my teeth, but it isn't enough to stop the sound of my pain and I get scolded for being 'difficult'.

Only once I am pink and plucked raw do they give me a small break from pain. Instead, they sink me into a tub of equal unpleasantness. It smells like the landfills back home where thousands of fish corpses rot away under the heat of the sun, and I frequently have to check that my skin is not melting away as if the water is in fact acid.

After the first bath, I am made to sit in a much nicer bath in comparison that still doesn't quite smell attractive. In fact, it stings my nostrils and I'm reminded of cleaning fluid. I begin to wonder if this is simply what the Capitol bathes in, or if I will have any decent scents and bath salts in my living quarters. At least it's clean, I guess.

When I emerge, I immediately reach for a bath robe. I was cold earlier on the table, but now the water evaporates off my skin too quickly, taking all of my heat with it. I look around to see where this year's stylists have went. The angular woman follows my gaze and squeaks that they are consulting Finnick, as he has no more preparation to go through.

I wonder briefly if this is because there was no need to strip him of body hair or if they simply think that I need far more work than him. It makes sense, after all, because there isn't any work to do on his already handsome face. He isn't exactly muscular either, so maybe they're just figuring out how to make him look his best.

Unfortunately, I must suffer at least one more hour of this pain. I sit down in a chair and allow a man with purple hair to powder my face with something while the angular woman files my nails and a second woman draws on my eyelids.

* * *

><p>"Take off your robe," the man says, instantly informing me he's my stylist.<p>

"What?" I reply wide-eyed. My mouth seems to have dropped a little in the initial surprise, so I hastily shut it before he can see.

"We need your measurements. There's been a change in plans."

"Ah." Is all I can come up with.

I hesitate before completely dropping the robe. The quicker it's done, the quicker it's over. Every urge in my body is screaming at me to cover my chest and nether-region, but the man is not fazed by a naked teenager.

As he examines my body and measures every inch, I examine him a little less intimately. He has blue, cropped hair with patterns shaved into the sides like waves. His skin tone is somewhere between creamy and tanned, but his eyes stand out to me and scare me more than I'd like to admit. They are the kind of grey that sends thunder tumbling through the clouds; the kind that raises waves to unnatural heights in order to sink the unsinkable ships. They are stormy, and make him cold and unforgiving. I don't like him, I realise.

He is rough with me when he wants me to turn, and his measurements aren't delicate in the slightest. When he is finished he doesn't say anything and just walks out of the door. I pull my bathrobe around my shoulders and wait for him to return. The sun is closing in on the horizon and I haven't even seen my costume yet.

In the mirror I examine the work that has been done to me so far. The fabric of the robe is soft and soothing against my legs. Every movement makes my skin feel like silk and I can't help but delight in the feeling. Aside from removing hair, they removed the blemishes in my skin and have concealed a layer of freckles under a coat of creamy powder. It automatically improves my face, and I wonder what else they'll be changing about mine and Finnick's appearances.

I've never really used makeup before, but even I can see that what they have done is a work of art. My eyelashes are darker, thicker and fuller. My eyelids are like the sea; they're painted with blues and greens and my eyes themselves have never looked brighter. The artists also outlined my eyes and added spiralling waves from the corners and ending at my temple. I admit to myself that I look striking. I see now what they meant by me being a blank canvas. My face was ordinary at best, but it has been transformed into artwork that makes me look so unlike myself that I'm not even recognisable. Unfortunately there is no makeup in the Games, as soon as my plainness is revealed I bet I'll get a decrease in sponsors.

The stormy man returns with a workbook in his hands, and simply jerks his head towards a chair. He seems like an insatiable person, but I can't stop myself from trying to please him.

"What will I be modelling tonight, then?" I ask, truly curious as to what they have planned. Obviously my face is showing, and I am growing hopeful that my body will look as great.

"Frankly, it's not my idea," he begins, "but it's my job to make you at least compare to your district partner."

"I'm well aware of his appearance. That's got nothing to do with me," I snap.

"Oh, but you're so plain!" he whinges, "you should be grateful that I'm even trying to improve your appearance. Unfortunately dressing you to be an obvious representation of fishing would just look awful compared to him. You need all the help you can get."

He is really testing my patience. Inside, I am taming my anger but it occurs to me that this would go a lot better if I just agree with whatever he says.

"If I'm not a fish," I say carefully, "then what exactly do you have planned?"

At this moment, his eyes mist over and his passion overtakes his anger.

"You will be a goddess among girls! The very embodiment of the ocean!"

It takes all that I have to not roll my eyes. I think I would have preferred the fish.

I opt to stay silent and hope for the best.

"You're well aware that your body type does not ooze appeal as this role calls for, right?" he smirks, trying to provoke a reaction again.

"Yes. Be my guest and do something about it. I have places I need to be, you know." I smirk right back at him.

"Now we're at least getting close to being on the same page. My name is Julius."

"And I'm Corella." I reply sharply, still not even getting close to amiable with Julius. "Do your best."

It's like a switch has activated in his mind. Conversation stops and he starts to pull boxes of clothing and jewellery out. The artist in him is emerging, but I get the sense that his work will be the true masterpiece compared to the prep team's art.

He begins with just the small things like underwear and clear tights that swish when I walk and make my legs drip with sunlight. Then, he hands me an unusual sort of corset which adds soft curves to my body and I feel infinitely more confident in my own skin. I then raise my arms as he drapes a silky slip over my body. It is somehow blue and green and silver and gold all at once, but this is only the beginning! I am amazed and growing more eager by the second to be transformed into water, believing it's possible the more time that goes on.

However, I am made to wait as he pauses and looks at me expectantly. I realise he asked me a question, but I was too busy playing with these new materials to notice.

"Huh?" I murmur before correcting myself, "Oh! I mean, what did you say?"

"Now's the time to eat, before the most important piece goes on."

"Ah," I mutter, a little disappointed that I have to wait.

I then start to think about the absence of food I have had all day and my tummy lets out a gurgle. I can't even be embarrassed about it because Julius has already left the room. Seconds later, two people in matching uniforms enter the room carrying platters of divine food and equally heavenly aromas. I go to ask them what each dish is, but I am distracted by the X over their mouths. They bow their heads to me and exit the room, leaving me to dine with a stunning view of the Capitol's skyline, and with a nagging curiosity that is not sated as easily as hunger.

The dishes themselves make up for all the pain I have suffered at the hands of the prep team. It almost makes the Hunger Games seem like a distant problem nobody cares about. It is easy to see how that might happen, the Games are just background entertainment for the food.

I pile a fluffy, white grain onto my plate. It is dotted with the odd grains of pink, green and blue. I can't remember the last time I ate rice, in fact I can't remember the last time I ate anything at all. I might as well have ate nothing, because suddenly every food I have loved turns bland and grey in comparison to the grain. It seems a strange thought, but as soon as I taste it all I can think is that if colour had a taste, this was it. I then look eagerly around the platters for something to go with the rainbow-coloured rice.

I settle on a slab of tender meat that melts in my mouth, accompanied by an orange sauce that is pleasantly spiced as if to ensure I never want to eat anything else ever again. I always thought that the food I had at home was close to that of the Capitol seeing as we're a wealthier district than most. I was very wrong. I can only imagine what the tributes from the poorest districts are thinking. I even find myself jealous that it will taste even better for them.

When I am finished, I wash the meal down with a glass of a liquid the colour of blackberries. It is warm and somehow makes my throat tingle, every single one of my senses is in bliss. I am in a haze when the staff return to clear my plates. My stomach is bulging slightly against the corset, but I don't worry about it at all. I don't care about looking desirable to other people when I could spend every minute eating that food instead.

It's only when Julius returns that I start to become more alert. He doesn't question the look of contentment on my face, so I guess he must be familiar with it himself whenever he eats at the opening ceremony.

"Come on, time for the main event and then we'll sort out your hair and jewellery." Julius says, instructing me to stand on a pedestal while he takes the dress off the rail.

I catch only a glimpse in the corner of my eye as he brings it towards me. It is the kind of beauty that is demanding and more powerful than anything else in the room. My breath catches, but he mistakes it for disdain and agrees with it.

"I know what you're thinking. It's certainly not the trend at the moment, but it's all I have right now that would work. You'll feel better when it's on."

The dress fits my manufactured body shape so perfectly I don't even realise he's put it on until he tells me I can look in the mirror. Before I turn around I realise that it's sleeveless and shows more of me than I would usually show, which makes me nervous.

That all changes when I glance upward.

All I can think of is home when I see myself. I think of waves crashing against the shore, the perfect reflection of the sky on the water and the glowing effect of rain on a pavement. The dress itself is a gradient moving from blue to a sea-green that puts Finnick's eyes to shame. The bodice has thousands of gems embroidered onto it, they are all different shades of the sea which make my whole dress look like it is glittering with drops of water in the sunlight. The bottom of the dress has the same effect, and I hardly notice how much of my thigh it reveals because it looks so breathtaking. It's as if my legs are separating the tide, and the waves crash onto the floor around me. I create the illusion of water wherever I go.

I cannot find any words to say. Instead, Julius is frantically trying to make my dress more costume-like. To me, it already does the trick of representing District Four, but maybe it's just me. He gives me silver shoes which infinitely raise my height. Fortunately, I won't have much walking to do. At the hem which joins the bodice to the skirt, he drapes a belt of perfectly sculpted seashells which release green streams of fabric (which unmistakably looks like seaweed) down to my knees. He then encases my upper arms in spiralling bands of gold, and starts to sculpt my hair.

My hair feels heavier than usual and I soon realise it is due to the sheer length of it. It seems my prep team have added extensions to my dark hair in such a way that it has become a series of waves cascading down to my waist. Julius places a crown of sea shells in my hair and it does not tarnish my appearance like I thought it would. It only enhances the rest of me in such a way, I look like royalty. The final touch is something Julius thinks of at the last minute, still feeling like I need something else to look even remotely desirable.

He retrieves a pearl necklace from his collection, and fastens it around my neck. I truly am a work of art, but Julius doesn't find me acceptable enough. Clearly Finnick must look incredible if I am barely a comparison to him. I am now a firm believer, though, that we have this ceremony in the palms of our hands. We aren't in some silly little costumes, we are the embodiment of District Four and I guarantee we will be remembered for the moments that are sure to follow.

Julius finds it in himself to at least show me where to go before he disappears, not entirely satisfied with the plain tribute he received this year. I make my way over to the fourth chariot where Mags is standing with Finnick. The chariot appears to be pure silver and the horses that will pull us are magnificent, strong creatures which seem to have hints of blue glitter in their unnatural, silver fur. Mags looks in my direction and smiles, pleasantly surprised by my appearance. I glance around and find other tributes on the floor gazing at me, some with their mouths open. In fact, the girl from District One snarls at her stylist after seeing me, and I can see why.

Most of the tributes on the floor are dressed in the silly costumes I have come to expect. The tributes from Twelve aren't even clothed, they're just covered in black dust. However, some of the wealthier districts look just as dazzling as I do, but when Finnick turns to see me I know that we are still with the upper hand. He looks every bit as flawless as my prep team and stylist have been telling me. His beauty is radiant and the boyish charm has gone, he looks more sophisticated and refined. He shines so brightly it dims everybody else. The stylists have definitely outdone themselves this year.

"Check you out, Odair," I remark, impressed, "you look like Poseidon himself."

And I mean it. His hair is tousled to perfection and his skin makes me realise what the term 'sunkissed' truly means. He looks taller and stronger somehow, unlike the boy I have warmed up to so recently. His outfit itself is incredibly simple. It's like an ancient tunic which glitters like my dress but somehow it suits him even more. The blue gems glow from him, making him the picture of strength and the sunlight of District Four. Whereas I have seaweed and shells, he has a blanket of pure gold netting, just like the rope on our bracelets. I feel a slight twinge of shame in my flimsy tiara, for his golden crown sits upon his head like it was created solely for this purpose.

Altogether, it's simple compared to the extravagance that Julius went through for me. It only goes to show how the odds are already in his favour. He doesn't even need to try and get sponsors, just the sight of his smile has me ready to hand over my gold. It's strange, but my noticing his attractiveness is completely different from my attraction to him. I'd rather have him as my closest friend than have him be a romantic interest. I will admit it's still nice to appreciate beauty when you see it, however, I don't have many opportunities left after all.

When Finnick sets his eyes on me I expect him to tease me for the crown and shells I feel so ridiculous in after seeing him, but instead his eyes widen and he doesn't say anything for a moment or so.

"Do I look okay?" I ask him and Mags, suddenly unsure of my outfit.

Mags beams at me without saying anything but Finnick just keeps staring.

Finally, he says "You look like District Four."

And that's the greatest thing he could have said to me. I feel gradually more confident, knowing I look like the most beautiful place in the world. The time to board the chariots arrives faster than what I would have liked, but Finnick offers his hand to pull my unsteady form onto the chariot with him.

The anthem begins and District One start moving forward. They are met with their fair share of applause and if I stand on my tiptoes, I can see the giant screens that are broadcasting their faces to everybody in Panem. Before I know it, the chariot lurches forward and I grab hold of Finnick to keep from falling. I look up and he gives me a reassuring smile before draping his arm around my shoulder and preparing to wave with his other hand.

I panic as we draw nearer and nearer to being visible by the crowd. I instinctively move Finnick's arm and instead suggest linking our arms together so we can move more but still keep hold of each other. We move into the blinding flashes of the crowd and all I can see is my face on one screen and Finnick's on the other. There is a ringing in my ears that I cannot place until I stare into the crowd and see they are screaming for me.

Some of the crowd are desperately searching for our names and in a few seconds I can hear "Corella!" being shouted from excited members of the Capitol. It is nothing compared to the screaming for Finnick, however. Everything is focused on us two, but I suspect it is more for Finnick than myself.

Empowered by the cheers of the crowd, I feel a strength surging into me. Finnick and I are waving frantically into the crowd and reciprocating their enthusiasm for the children of District Four. Through this I somehow hear my wonderful neighbour's voice in my head, telling me to show them who I am. I hear the twins desperately begging me to come home.

I'm slowly being faded out of the camera's shot as they focus more on Finnick and the other districts who are just entering the circle behind us. I want to draw attention back to me, and I feel empowered by my costume. I am District Four. I will show them that they do not want to forget about me.

I reach for my crown and I rip it from my hair, throwing it aside. This draws the attention back but I need to keep it on me. I rip the belt from around my waist and watch it clatter to the ground behind me as we keep moving forward. People are screaming for me and wanting me to direct my next piece at them. I command their attention now, and Finnick remains just as favourable as ever.

I did look as regal and gentle as a dew drop, and I think I understand how Julius envisioned me as a goddess of the ocean. He was wrong.

I am beautiful, I am fierce, I am calm, I am wild, I am shining but most of all I am powerful.

I am an unstoppable force of nature. You will pay for thinking that I am weak. I am as calm as the rivers that flow through me. I am as ruthless as the waves that bury entire ships, never to be found again. I will _not_ be ignored.

As I ride through the Capitol, I leave a trail of captivating mist behind me. I am like a tsunami wave, surging onwards and obliterating any competition that is in our way.

We approach the city centre and it is clear.

I am by no means a goddess of the ocean.

I _am_ the ocean.


	6. Chapter 5

As soon as Finnick and I make it back to our floor in the training centre, Nova is beaming from ear to ear. She has a grin plastered onto her face permanently and seems to be so unable to contain her excitement, her tiny body physically shakes as if her joy is too big for her to carry and the emotion itself is desperately trying to break free from her skin.

"You two were the stars of the ceremony!" She squeals, "The camera was always on at least one of you!"

Finnick gives her a small smile but dodges around her, heading for the banquet of food ready for us to eat. When he comes closer to her, she opens her arms as if expecting a hug, but he just walks straight past her to start filling up his plate.

Trying to hide her slip-up, she inches quickly towards me in her skyscraper heels and pulls me into an embrace that is not unlike a cage pressing tighter into my ribs by the second. She only pulls away when I ask her if I may get changed for dinner.

"Why of course, dear!" Nova smiles, as if someone finally understands the need to get changed every five seconds, "The Avoxes should have filled your wardrobe up by now, feel free to take your time!"

I walk stiffly and slowly around her, finding it difficult to walk in my heels and I suddenly gain a new respect for my escort who wears even more impossible shoes every hour of the day. Finnick catches my eye and gives me a pitying look before motioning towards a pink pasta to try later as if it will instantly relieve any of the pain I'm going through.

Walking towards the room that I was acquainted with last night, I start to daydream of its luxury. This continues until I walk past the serving staff in the corridor. Nova calls them Avoxes. The X that is painted across their mouths in blood red sends shivers down my spine almost as quickly as the silence they live by raises goosebumps on my arms.

I wonder what they did that deserved a life of silent slavery. This unsettles me even more, and I am exceptionally happy to find I have reached the door to my quarters.

When we initially arrived in the Capitol yesterday, it was well into the night and I had grown tired from the train journey and the emotional turbulence of the day. Still, the luxury and comfort of the place did not go unnoticed by my fatigued state. The memories I have are refreshed as soon as I walk through the door and I am once again blown away by the beauty of it.

Unlike most of the Capitol, these quarters do not pretend to be crazy and ultra-modern. They are a calmer, more comfortable kind of style. The whole room is a kaleidoscope of blue and white, reflecting the feeling of paradise of aqua waves washing against white sand. It isn't quite like the District Four I know, but the Capitol's perception is relaxing all the same.

One of the more impressive features is that everything in the room seems to be automated to have some extra function to add even more comfort to my surroundings. For example, anywhere that I can sit down is somewhere I can summon food or drink with the press of a button. Most appliances are self-cleaning and the large bed can sway as if it's a hammock and not an enormous, heavy piece of furniture complete with a mattress that molds around my body and enough pillows for a child to build the fort of their dreams.

It's all very overwhelming and not like anything I've ever seen or experienced. It would be easy to forget the circumstances under which I have been delivered here. There are so many wonderful things that I crave to try out. I think one of my favourite parts is the fish tanks that are built into some of the walls and the centre of the floor. At first I am not sure if they're real, but when I tap on the glass it seems to stir a small reaction. I also find a button which dispenses fish food into my personal aquarium and I spend a short time admiring all the fish that I've never seen before. I'm used to grey fish that could feed a whole family, not the delicate curves and bright colours I see before me. At one point I even stand over the tank in the floor and imagine I'm at home, letting the waves wash over my feet.

I crave the water and decide that I will have a decent bath when I return from dinner. Checking that the Capitol actually has decent scents for baths is one of the first things I did, eager to avoid the terrible smells of the baths the prep team made me take.

After I have spent a sufficient amount of time in my quarters, I think it is best that I shed my manufactured body shape, though I am reluctant to give up the dress. Thankfully, the hair extensions are easy enough to remove and my aching neck is back to supporting a normal weight upon my shoulders. I decide to leave the makeup on for now, though. I secretly think it's much too pretty to remove until I absolutely must ruin it.

Going over to my wardrobe I see that Nova is right and I have more than enough clothes to last me during my time in the Capitol. Fortunately, none of them are ridiculous contraptions like Nova wears even though some are still a bit too weird for my liking. I settle on a purple dress that feels like silk against my skin. It seems much too simple for the Capitol until I realise that it's in fact made to sleep in, as if people care about looking stylish in their sleep.

_Hopefully Nova won't mind_, I think, even though I desire the look on her face as I eat my supper in pyjamas almost as much as I desire the pink pasta that is causing my stomach to uncontrollably rumble.

* * *

><p>Dinner is even more fabulous than I could have hoped for and the look on Nova's face is priceless. She gasps in horror but then, by the relaxing of her face, I suppose she must content herself thinking that a poor girl from the districts doesn't know any better.<p>

Another pleasant surprise is that Mags joins us in dining. I find myself amazed at how well she can translate what she's thinking to us without saying much. Due to her age I think talking must surely be difficult for her, for she never says anything particularly complicated and the words she does say are usually difficult to understand. Part of my mind is nagging me to recognise that this could be the result of years battling the trauma of the Games, but I choose to ignore it despite its persistence.

I choose to sit next to Finnick for dinner and it turns out to be an excellent choice. He is around 3 plates ahead of me, but every time he finds something new he leans towards me and tells me his latest recommendation. As it turns out, the pasta is one of my favourites. I'm told by Nova that it's just made with a creamy sauce with salmon, as if I should already know the delights of a fish I've never had the privilege to try.

It gets me to thinking, the Capitol still takes plenty away from District Four. The fish we've come to treat as delicacies now seem to be the scraps that the Capitol doesn't want. I don't like to admit it, but again I can see how that could happen. All the food that I love at home is tasteless in comparison to the rich food they serve daily here.

Finnick lies back in his chair, patting his stomach with glazed eyes. When my last plate is taken away I go back up to the tables expecting to find the same food that was there just moments before. On the contrary, the surfaces are filled to the brim with brand new sugary delights which cause my mouth to water just looking at them.

The word 'dessert' comes to mind and it takes all that I have to remind myself that if I take more than one dish back I will be ill from over-consumption. I settle on a slice of brown cake which I've never seen before. It smells more delightful than I could ever imagine food could be. Before I make my way back to the table, I pick up a little extra something to inform Finnick that he didn't even make it to the best part of the meal.

Just like I knew would happen, Finnick's eyes become alert as soon as I am in his sight holding the most delicious treats he's seen. Grinning, I take my place next to him and he starts to pout and massage his stomach even more, thinking if it's worth the pain to eat more food.

"_Please_ tell me I can have some of that?" Finnick whines, creating a line between his eyes.

I take a bite and I can't conceal the gasp of pleasure that it brings about, which makes him regret his dinner even more.

"Come _on_! Just one bite?" He pleads, trying to get some form of sympathy out of me. "I can't even move to get a slice for myself!"

I laugh and shove him slightly. Mags watches with a smile as if to say that he should have thought with his mind instead of his stomach.

"I'm not parting with this cake, Finnick!" _I would sooner die, _I think. I decide not to say it out loud considering the circumstances that even got us in this dining room.

The entire time I eat, Finnick watches longingly as I raise another mouthful of delightfulness to my lips. That's when I remember the extra thing I picked up on my way back to sitting down.

After he begs four more times to have something sweet to finish his meal off, I pull the sugar cube out of the pocket in my dress and place it right in the middle of his placemat. Finnick cannot suppress it, he bites down on his lip to keep from laughing, remembering the train.

Nova eyes us suspiciously, which sets Finnick off again. I smile to myself, enjoying the company of someone with whom you can share a joke that nobody else knows about.

Once I'm finally finished devouring as much as I can eat, I head back to my room with as much difficulty as before. This time, however, it's my full stomach that weighs me down and not the high heels that limited my walking ability.

Finnick and Mags retired to bed long before me, but I finally decided to part with the food once Nova started pushing me out of the dining room. I walk in to find that my dress for the tribute parade has been taken away and the bed covers have been changed. What surprises me the most, though, is that my mother's hair clip has been delivered back to me after the prep team got rid of everything I was wearing before I met them.

I pick it up and run my fingers over the gems. One gem has come loose and I find myself playing with it out of habit. Voices echo in my head and tears fill my eyes for the first time since I entered the Capitol. I've known this object all my life, yet I've only ever worn it three times.

Annie's bracelet -my token- is heavy on my wrist as I count the memories associated with this item. The weight of memory is too heavy for me to fight and I inevitably succumb to it.

* * *

><p>I'm back in District Four, all of a sudden.<p>

I was half my current height with hair twice as long. I was trying to convince the carers that my hair was too long for me to walk around with and complete all the difficult tasks that a six year old must do, so _obviously _I needed a hair clip.

This was really just my way of begging them to let me use it, the prettiest little thing I had ever seen. They only ever told me that it was much too precious for me to care for it and that I could have it in my possession when I was older. Every year on my birthday I asked them if I was old enough yet but due to the way I frequently knocked glasses over and tripped up, they were reluctant to place my mother's beloved last possession in my hands.

"_Pleeeeeeeeeaaaaaaase?_" I asked them, "My hair needs it! I need it! I swear!"

All it got me were a couple of laughs that a child's innocence brings about, and one extremely short haircut the next day.

Time melts away and reforms around me, I'm now at my last day at the care home.

Those same people who I had come to love (and who had loved me for a long time before that) had tears in their eyes and told me I was welcome back with them any time.

It might have been a sentimental attachment to me that made them so upset, but I think they were more upset that I was finally 'grown up' in their books. I was finally 12. Grown up enough to move into my shack on the beach with bi-weekly visits from the carers. Grown up enough to be a part of the Reaping pool. Grown up enough to die.

"Ella," one of them said to me, "you don't ever need tesserae, okay? Never put your name down more times than it has to. Promise me that."

"I promise." I said, terrified over the coming summer and the 63rd Hunger Games.

"Good. Then I think you ought to take this with you," he said, pulling the hair clip I had longed for so much out of his pocket.

"I love you all," I said. I don't think I ever got to say a final goodbye to them.

Time shifts again like a dream and this time I am shaking so much outside of my house that I can't even make myself move forward.

It was the day of my first Reaping. I woke up screaming in the middle of my night and I couldn't get back to sleep. Once I finally managed to dress myself I started to try and convince myself that it wouldn't be me. I hadn't been in the eligible section before and District Four is too big for everyone to fit in the square. I had no idea of how many volunteer their lives away every year; I honestly thought it would be me.

Even if it wasn't me, I couldn't handle the idea that I had to watch the others get picked. I didn't want to watch another year of the Games thinking "_That could be me in a few years."_

It was the first time I ever reached for my hair clip to slide in my hair, but my hands were shaking too much for it to go in right. I was clutching it so hard my fingertips started to bleed. That's when Mrs McCarthy found me.

"Oh!" She gasped, catching sight of me. "Taless, wait with your brother inside for a minute."

She ran over to me and sank down to her knees so she could be at eye-level with me. She didn't bother to ask if I was okay at a time when I so obviously wasn't. She pulled my fingertips away from the hair clip and wrapped a spare handkerchief around them while the bleeding stopped.

"That's a lovely clip," she smiled to me, "would you like me to help you?"

I nodded, mute.

"There," she smiled, "you look beautiful, dear."

She was so kind, even then. She made me believe I was beautiful and then asked me to walk with her and her boys to the square. She made me believe I could do it and two years later here I stand. I put in my hairclip all by myself this year. I walked with her by my own accord. She made me believe I had a chance in all of this. She made a life for herself after losing her husband, the man she loved more than anything. She single-handedly raised her sons into wonderful young men. She never had any spare time and yet she always made it for me.

When I was falling apart, regretting my decision to volunteer and save the life of someone who had everything to lose, I didn't see that I actually do have people to lose. They're the closest thing to family I have. Yet when I was breaking down in the justice building, she inspired me with her words that I could do what I set out to do.

Look at me now, I'm in the Capitol ready to start training for the Games and still that woman inspires me.

* * *

><p>The memories take their toll on me and my heart aches more the longer I look at my heirloom. When I see it, I see their faces. I would give anything to see them again.<p>

I am reminded of my promises. Somehow the business of my life as a tribute has lessened the urgency for me to decide which promise to break. I can't put that family through another loss, I can't bear the thought of putting them through that pain. Panic builds up in me, it begins creeping through my veins. Why did I do this? I don't want to die. I don't want to die. I don't want to die.

_THUD._

My hand lost its grip on my mother's clip. It slammed to the floor, alarming some of the fish that swim around beneath it.

It's too late for me to regret anything now. I am going to survive right until the end. I made that much clear in my parade, did I not? I can do this, can't I? I can. I will.

I push every panicked thought out of my head, I cannot allow them to push through and take control of my body. I'm stronger than my fear.

In my panic a thick line of sweat has formed on my skin and so I head into the bathroom to draw myself a bath. The tub itself is more like a swimming pool. It is at least the size of my shack back in Four, if not bigger. I look for a tap but cannot find one, instead it seems everything is operated by the control panel on the wall.

The control panel has every possible scenario that I could want out of a bath. The water will run any colour that I want, it will fill up with as many bubbles as I want and it will smell like anything I could ever dream of. I cannot decide myself so I close my eyes and press a button with each finger on my hand. When I open my eyes, I strip my clothes off and discard them on the floor before sitting in the bath and watching the water rain from the tap.

It's fascinating. The water is like liquid gold and glitters in the light. The temperature is warmer than I expected, and the pain in my feet from the shoes dissipate instantly. I sigh contededly into the bath and the hysteria rising in me evaporates just as quickly as the water on my skin.

I am no longer scared of the Games. I already know that I am going to fight the hardest for my life that I can. What bothers me most is the familiar confliction of which promise I am going to keep. Just like my mother's accessory, the bracelet of golden thread around my wrist has connotations that threaten to pull me under like I'm being made to swim with an anchor attached to my foot.

The longer I stare at it I am reminded of Finnick and Annie; how much they mean to each other. I think back to the Reaping (which feels like lifetimes ago) that took place yesterday. District Four wouldn't be so easily shocked out of volunteering. It's because it was him. The boy who everybody seemed to know, the boy who everybody liked and the boy who so many families owed something to.

* * *

><p>I myself have never really known Finnick until now, but he has been in my class at school for as long as I can remember. He was always quiet and never sought attention from anyone, yet when anybody needed help it seemed like he was always there for them in the blink of an eye. The first time I ever experienced this was some time before my first Reaping when the world still looked sunny and the Games were surreal.<p>

I remember playing out on the beach and building sandcastles with other children there with their families. The whole day seemed to be tinted with gold like all good childhood memories are and the sunset was just the same. A dinghy was out in the water a good distance away and the dock was only in use by a boy with coppery hair and what must have been his father's much too big fishing equipment. The only other people around were a couple of children and even fewer adults.

The boy was still there when I had been sufficiently satisfied with my sculpting skills. My guardian for the day, Louise, occasionally helped out, but she was quite content to relax in the sunlight and read a book. When the time had come to leave, the boy was just one of three people to remain on the beach. Louise called for me, signalling my day in the sun was coming to a close and that we ought to get something to eat. Evidently, the other girl and her father must have had the same idea but she begged him for five more minutes in the sand.

"Only one minute then you have to be inside!" Her father called, heading into the house only metres away.

"Okay!" She sang.

"Come on, Corella," Louise nudged my shoulder, "It's rude to stare, you know."

And so I followed her up the path leading away from the beach before I suddenly felt an absence on my person. I had left my bucket and spade lying next to my castle! Dragging Louise back, I got halfway down before I heard a girl screaming for help.

Alarmed, I ran onto the sand to get a better look. The girl was struggling to swim in one of the deeper rock pools at the sea's edge. I didn't know what had happened then but I suppose she must have been walking on the rocks and fell in without knowing how to swim.

I was only young myself and I had no idea what to do. I was thinking that maybe I should run into the house to get her father's attention, but he had already heard the commotion and burst out of the door and started to scan the beach for his daughter, panic-stricken.

The whole ordeal was over just as quickly as it had came about. In the time it had taken the father to locate the girl, somebody had already beat him to rescuing her: the boy who was fishing. He had already pulled the girl out of the water and started to ask her if she was okay. I watched, mesmerised as he helped expel any of the water she had managed to swallow.

The man ran over to his daughter and hugged her almost as tightly as he hugged the boy. He was so thankful that he had been around and so angry with himself that he had left her -if only for a minute- on the beach. It was the first time I had ever seen a grown man cry.

It took me only a few days, when I was back at school, to find out who the boy was. I recognised him in class and asked the boy next to me who exactly he was.

"He's Finnick," the boy replied, "He lives near me. He brings over spare fish sometimes when he catches a whole lot."

"Why?" I asked, not old enough to understand the concept of doing things just because it's a good thing to do.

"I don't know. I hear he does lots of good things, though."

It may have took me a few years to figure out who Finnick was, but it's taken me many years to figure out who the girl he saved was. I thought she was just some girl, but now I recognise the knotted dark hair and the sea-green eyes. I think I witnessed the beginning of a very important relationship between Finnick and Annie.

* * *

><p>Confliction is a feeling that won't subside for a while after my trip down memory lane. Finnick has worked his whole life to be selfless and the only truly selfless thing I've done is volunteer. I may have people who I want to go home to, but it's occurring to me that Finnick has a lot more to live for than I do.<p>

I can't look at the gold bracelet for long. When I look at it I see Annie screaming for Finnick at the Reaping. I see her in the justice building when I look into the golden water.

Getting out of the bath, I dry myself and wash away the patterns on my face. I fold my clothes up and go to select a new nightdress from the wardrobe. I do everything systematically, unwilling to let the promises cloud my mind all night.

When I finally settle into bed, I hardly notice the comfort at all because I am trapped in my head and unable to think of anything other than tomorrow and my promises. The only thing that is stronger than my confliction is my worry for the training which starts tomorrow. We're required to do three days of training and on the last afternoon we'll have to be assessed on our chosen skill by the Gamemakers.

I'm not bothered about physical training, I'm bothered about my inexperience with weaponry. Between my unwillingness to learn at school and the fact that tridents are too heavy for me, I only have a harpoon left. Unfortunately I can't throw them too long a distance, so I fear I'm going to have to start with a completely new weapon and embarrass myself in front of the other districts. It's vital that I succeed and impress them. Nobody wants to ally with a weak tribute and right now all I know is I need to keep myself and Finnick alive for as long as possible. That will be harder to do without the skills of districts One and Two.

This plays on my mind longer than I thought. I frequently turn over and physically relax my muscles in a bid to fall asleep. It's maybe two hours later that I give up and decide to try sit on the sofa in front of the windows out on the main floor for a bit. I haven't really looked closely at the Capitol yet, except for riding through the city circle.

I open the door and I'm glad there are no Avoxes lurking around. I'd quite like to be alone for a while and I don't like the feeling of their eyes on me and their deafening silence. I sit down and watch the sky change from purple to blue and then from blue to black. I try to remember what stars look like, for here the lights are so bright I cannot see any in the sky at all.

Perhaps half an hour later, I begin to think I have calmed down until a voice jolts me into panic.

"It's pretty remarkable, isn't it?" Finnick says, and I shoot him a look while trying to get my pulse back to normal.

"The city, I mean. I've never seen anything so grand." As he speaks, he moves into the light and stands by the window, looking out over the rainbow coloured buildings.

He smiles a bit when I punch his shoulder for scaring me. We're both quiet for a while before he starts speaking again, a bit more seriously.

"Well, I know why I can't sleep but I'm wondering why _you're _awake."

He turns his head to face me and his eyes search mine for an honest answer. He seems to have aged since yesterday, he seems to have grown more tired and I wonder if all his humour is a way to hide his internal anguish.

"Honestly..." I begin, unsure if I should mention what Annie made me promise, "I'm concerned about the training. I'm going to mess it up for the both of us and then nobody's going to ally with us."

That much is true, at least.

"I'm more worried that I'm meeting the people I'm supposed to kill tomorrow," he admits, quietly.

"I feel the same, don't get me wrong. I just think my determination to live is more dominant in my mind. I'm more worried that the people we're meeting are the ones who are going to kill _us_."

I raise my fingers to signal 1 and 2. Finnick nods like he understands. They are the most vicious districts this year and we're going to have to be the closest to them.

We are quiet for another period of time, but it is not uncomfortable. It's more of a mutual understanding of each other's fears about tomorrow. Several moments pass before I notice that he is tying knots in his bracelet, undoing them and then tying them again in a repetitive manner. Habit.

"Hey, can I ask you something?" I say, "Who is Annie?"

I hide my own bracelet from view for now as well as hiding the extra question I was trying to ask: _Who is Annie to _you?

For a minute I think Finnick's eyes are close to tearing up, but he blinks rapidly to clear his eyes.

"I've known her since I was seven. She was only five then and we were both at the beach. I guess her dad went inside to start dinner, but while he wasn't there she fell in a rock pool and I saved her. Our families have sort of been close since then."

I don't say anything for a few seconds, what could I say at a time like this?

"It was her first Reaping this year and it," his voice catches, "it kills me a little bit that there's nothing I can do to protect her from it."

I put my arms around Finnick and hug him until his breathing calms down. It's instinctive to comfort somebody in pain and I still struggle for words that could make him feel better.

"We're...," he takes a breath, "very close, you could say. I -er- she means a lot to me."

"You mean a lot to her too, Finnick," I say, revealing my bracelet, "you might not be there to protect her right now but I promised her I'd do my best to protect you."

I am surprised that I let the promise slip out of my mouth, but it seems to give him some comfort. His green eyes are suddenly bright and so close to my face as she shakes me to answer him.

"She came to you? She would really ask a total stranger to protect me?" Finnick persists, needing confirmation that the girl he cares so much about actually cares about him too.

"You saved her life and now she wants to save yours." I say, turning my head back to the skyline.

"From what I've heard I'd say she loves you, Finnick." I smile to him and gently squeeze his hand.

A smile sneaks across his face and in the light he looks more handsome than ever. He's truly happy and I hope that sadness and grief do not tarnish the wonderful person that he is.

"Will you kill?" I ask, "I mean, would you kill in order to get back to her?"

A lump appears in his throat and he swallows it.

"Yes. That's what terrifies me. If it meant I can go back to her I'm sure I'd kill anyone that got in my way...with one exception." He looks into my eyes again and it goes unsaid that he is talking about me.

"I know what you mean. When I volunteered I didn't really think about the consequences. It's obvious that it's kill or be killed but then you came along and I just can't bear the thought of it coming down to us two."

_Of course, it's going to have to._ I think to myself.

"Yeah..." he trails off for a moment, "Hey, why did you volunteer? You don't seem like the type to-"

"Ruthlessly hack people to death? Yeah, well. Ask me again in the arena, hopefully I'll have an answer for you then."

We laugh, but I'm serious. Maybe I'll never have a definite answer to the question or maybe I'll simply never have to answer it, I don't know.

I think back on everything that Finnick told me about Annie. He never really told me directly but it's obvious he loves her. He might even be in love with her. It seems to me that what they have is a beautiful thing and it's a tragedy for it to be cut short.

I also think back to me telling him that I promised Annie to protect him. I sounded so certain, I didn't even have to think about the words before they tumbled out of my mouth. Is that my decision made for me, then? Have I come here to die for him?

Hysteria builds up within me as an epiphany hits me and it's like I've been struck with lightning. I have three people to live for and Finnick probably has hundreds. He has Annie, he can't leave her before his time. He deserves to grow old with her and only die after he has lived a good and long life. If I died now or in 70 years, it wouldn't make much difference. I have had a small impact on the world and now it's time for me to leave my mark.

I suddenly begin to lose control of my breathing and a heat builds up behind my eyes which I can't fight. In a matter of seconds I am sobbing and shaking and Finnick doesn't know what's going on.

"What's wrong?" he asks, eyes alert, "Why are you crying?"

I cannot answer him but I think that he thinks that the odds of my survival are only just hitting me now. He pulls me into his arms and my face rests on his chest. I am shaking but he remains calm and whispers soothing things to me. He strokes my hair the way parents do to calm their wailing children. His other hand pats my back gently. He never tells me it's going to be okay or that I have nothing to worry about because that would be lying. I know I'm not going to be okay. I'm finally coming to terms with the fact that I will die so he can live.

I'm mourning myself.

I don't know how long I continue to sob for, but I do stop eventually. As I cried in his arms I scoured my memory for my favourite images of the McCarthy family, of all the carers I have known. I even take a minute to remember my classmates and Solana, the girl I am also dying for. One by one I mentally say my goodbyes until I am at peace. I let each one of them go as if my attachments float away on a breeze.

"Are you okay now?" He asks with the softest tone I've heard him use.

I nod, silently. He covers my shaking hands with his own and searches for my gaze.

"You're not alone. We are going to do this together, Corella."

"Ella." I respond weakly.

"What?" He says, confused.

"Ella. You can call me Ella."

"Well, Ella. It'd be a privilege to walk you back to your room." He says, offering his arm for me to take.

We walk slowly back to our bedrooms and it is then that his humour reappears. I call him a gentleman for escorting me back and to that he simply bows low and says it was his pleasure.

That stirs a laugh in me and he smiles at that, knowing he has helped another person by finding happiness.

"Goodnight, Ella." He says to me with a wave.

I hesitate before I say it, but I reply "Goodnight, Finn."

He is only partially facing me at this point but I see the corner of his mouth turn upwards and he looks fondly at his bracelet. I suspect that's a nickname he didn't think he'd hear again.

I climb back into bed and fear insomnia, but neither confliction nor worries about tomorrow comes to me. Sleep comes so quickly, I don't remember resting my head on my pillow.


End file.
